


The Raven's Nest

by severedartery



Series: The Raven's Nest [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Body snatching, Death, Dissection, Forest tromping and backpacks fulla guts, Gore, Grave Robbers, M/M, Masochism, Mental Instability, Murder, Organs, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sadism, Schizophrenia, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-15 18:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2239587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severedartery/pseuds/severedartery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>EDIT: This story is being rewritten! Read the new and improved version HERE: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7651258<br/>Enjoy, you sick fucks.<br/>Gerard Way is your average recluse- a basement-dwelling teenager who's skin never sees the light of day.<br/>But things go horribly awry when he discovers something menacing in the woods that border Belleville, New Jersey and comes into contact with a guy who can only be described as utterly bizarre.</p><p> </p><p>Also contains Moon Pies, backpacks full of guts, human dissection, Jack Daniels, and copious amounts of gore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,_  
 _Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,—_  
 _While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,_  
 _As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door._  
 _"'T is some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;_  
 _Only this and nothing more."_  
  
  
 _Crunch._   Gerard reeled back in disgust upon glancing down to find a very dead (and very disfigured) rat under his right shoe. The carcass made a stomach churning, squelching noise as Gerard's weight was lifted from it, almost like a wet sponge. He swallowed the bile that had been rising in his throat, mentally preparing himself to vomit, and kneeling down to inspect the damage. Sure enough, his already filthy chucks were now soaked in what he assumed was some sort of bodily fluid. Oh  _god,_  was that a chunk of flesh?   
"Fuck," he groaned miserably, because holy shit, he was totally going to contract the fucking plague and  _die_  out here. As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly; he hadn't eaten in, what was it, two days now? Three? He sighed hopelessly and lowered himself into the grass, not even caring when the accumulated rain water soaked through his clothes, the cold nipping his skin. He fixed his eyes on the angry looking grey sky. Which, okay, was downright fucking  _ominous._  The clouds literally seemed agitated, churning and producing deep grumbles. Gerard let his head loll to the side and found himself eye-to-cloudy-eye with the wasted rat. Its coat was matted with blood and god knows what else, and its jaw hung open at a disgustingly impossible angle. Like a door with broken hinges, except full of shattered little rat teeth. His eyes rolled back as the putrid scent of decay reached his nostrils. It wouldn't be long now until the maggots hatched from deep inside and ate away at the stiffened muscles. Or maybe the vultures would find it first, tearing it limb from rotten limb with their keen beaks. Maybe if he was still enough, they'd mistake Gerard for carrion and rip him to shreds, too.  _Gnarly._  He sighed deeply, trying to ignore the stench that wafted into his lungs. He hated finding dead things. He hated staring into the eyes of an empty shell that once hosted a conscious being. And he especially hated the fact that his body, too, would one day be vacant. Where did people go when their exteriors became ruptured and could no longer house them? Could a soul exist without a console? Or did it simply disappear?   
He wondered what had killed the rat. If something, or someone, had robbed it of its life just for the hell of it. How easily could that have happened to him, too? How easily could his head have busted open when he'd collided with that headstone? He could be dead as a fucking doornail, right at that very moment. Lying face down in the dirt, right where Bert had left him. He recalled the sound his bones made each time he'd hit the ground.  _Click, click, click,_  like a bicycle shifting gears. A sudden shudder racked his entire body as he fought the urge to reminisce the entire ordeal. Something that resembled pure terror was gnawing away inside his chest cavity. Bert's mockery echoed in his ears and he could almost see him sneering, his dark tangled hair covering the rest of his face. It was as if his face was branded on the inside of Gerard's eyelids. Gerard held his breath until his thoughts were muddled and nothing more than a murmur in the back of his mind. Why remember?  
  
Gerard was awakened by the loudest fucking thunder clap he's ever had the displeasure of witnessing.   
"Gghhhfgh," he said to the sky, glaring at it resentfully. It continued to pelt him with rain in response, as if he wasn't miserable enough already. Fucking Jersey. Nature was a legitimate asshole. He rubbed his eyes groggily, momentarily forgetting about his bruised face. Talk about immediate regret, holy  _shit._  Gerard gritted his teeth and gingerly traced the sore spot under his eye. It throbbed viciously under his fingertips; maybe he had an orbital fracture, or whatever. Fuck. His face was probably some sick shade of greenish-yellowish-purple, sort of like zombie flesh. (Minus the oozing and decay.) ((And the cannibalistic urges.)) This was totally gross.   
He heaved himself to his feet, gripping the ridiculously tall grass for support. The wind whipped his hair in his face and caused his damp clothes to cling to his skin, chilling him to the fucking bone. Okay, yeah. It was definitely time to go home. Besides, he was  _itching_  for a cigarette.   
He began dragging his feet in the direction in which he assumed was his neighborhood (god, please let him be going the right way) and occupied himself with thoughts of dry clothes, nicotine, and a warm meal.   
The hours passed and Gerard began to realize, to his dismay, that he had no idea where the fuck he was going. He's passed the same lightning-stricken tree twice already, now here he fucking was, staring at it once again. Out of irrational anger he kicked its charred bark, sending withered, blackened leaves cascading to the forest floor.   
"Shit," he grunted, because, dude. He was fucking  _toast._  His mom was undoubtedly worried sick and taking it out on Mikey in the form of excessive baking and a short temper. Gerard could almost envision his brother rolling is eyes, exasperated and indifferent.   
Maybe he'd go find the river and settle himself into the banks. Wait for his blood to run cold and his veins to freeze over. Then he'd sleep with the fishes and they'd eat his brain away and make themselves at home in his hollowed carcass. Nobody would find his body until the snow melted in late spring. A mere layer of decaying, soggy flesh clinging to a skeletal frame.   
Whatever. He was aiming another blow at the tree when something caught his eye a ways into the vegetation. It reflected the sun's faint rays in a way that made it almost glisten, whatever it was. What the hell, he figured, why not investigate? He was already lost as shit as it was.  
"Seriously?" Gerard whispered as he approached. He knelt down, his knees sinking into the (worm ridden) earth, and peered closer. It was a pile of Moon Pie wrappers- fucking  _Moon Pies._  Seriously, did they even  _make_  these things anymore? He and Mikey used to get these as special treats sometimes when they were kids, but Gerard hadn't seen them since he was what, nine?   
 _Ha, these must be fucking ancient._  He turned the wrapper over in his hand, frowning. The inside of the wrapper was still coated in sugar laden cream and melted chocolate. Wouldn't it have washed away by now...?  _Weird._  he thought. His stomach growled in agreement.   
He was straightening up, preparing to leave,when he saw it. He made out two black straps, barely visible from behind a large rock. Was that...a backpack? There was no fucking way somebody else was all the way out there. Nobody in their right mind, anyway.   
He knew he needed to get his sorry ass home and he knew he should probably refrain from invading a stranger's backpack. C'mon, that was weird. Super weird. But curiosity killed the cat, and Gerard found himself with the zipper clasped between his fingers.  _Ziiiiiip._ Humid air radiated from the bag's interior. Wha- He peeked inside.   
Was that- No. NO. He flung himself backwards, muffling his wheezing gags with his hoodie sleeve. He physically could  _not_  come to grips with what he'd just seen. Inside the backpack had been a cluster of ziplock bags, like the ones his mom used to pack his sandwiches in back in primary school. Except this wasn't a backpack full of peanut butter and jellies. It was full of  _guts,_  fucking  _viscera._  Organs pressed up against plastic.   
Squeezed between the bags had been a bottle labeled "Neutrex." Late night crime show reruns had taught him plenty. He  _knew_  what that stuff was used for. Cleaning up nasty spills without leaving a trace. That's what made Gerard's head spin. This guy was up to no good.   
"Mmmgghmffh" Gerard groaned into his hand, feeling abruptly sick to his stomach. He needed to get the hell out of there.  _Now._  Jesus, who was this guy? Fucking Dahmer?   
"NEV-ER-MOoore,"   
 _Who the fuck-_  Gerard scrambled further into the underbrush.  _Christ,_  he was totally about to be dismembered and shoved into plastic bags.   
His eyes raked the surrounding foliage, his heart pounding painfully against his rib cage. He really wasn't in the mood to have his spleen removed, thank you very much.   
"Ne-vER-MORE,"   
 _Fuck._  He craned his neck upwards, tracing the unpleasant exclamation to... the treetops? He squinted at the branches that twisted menacingly above him.  _How could somebody-_    
Then he saw it, the silhouette of a massive black bird (pterodactyl, more like) looming a good 15 feet up in the sentinel. The twig it was perched on dipped dangerously under its weight.   
Oh.  _Oh._  He recalled his 9th grade earth science class, the one with the fetal lambs floating in specimen jars and amphibious skeletons displayed proudly on the teacher's desk. He'd enjoyed that class, so he remembered the majority of what he's been taught that year; particularly a brief discussion about ravens and their tendency to mimic humans. The bastards could not only replicate words, but also the actual voice of somebody. Ravens could match a person's speech exactly. Eerie as fuck.   
It was no coincidence that 'nevermore' was this particular bird's word of choice, either- people immediately associated ravens with Poe's poem. It had probably heard the word countless times -It was simply a word it was accustomed to hearing, so it copied.  
Gerard felt like a fucking idiot. He'd totally lost it.  
"NEVERMORE," Gerard flinched. Could this thing get any more obnoxious?  
"Shut up," He hissed, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder and another at the backpack. On the off chance that there  _was_  somebody nearby, he didn't want to be anywhere near the backpack if they saw him. Accusations of what- Dismemberment? Homicide? Grave robbing? Yeah, no thanks.  
Or worse, whoever owned that backpack could emerge from the woods to find that Gerard hed been snooping through his, um.  _Things._  
The raven turned its head almost mechanically, fixing its beady eyes directly on Gerard.   
"NeveR-MOre,"  
"Shut  _up!_ "  
"Shut-up," the bird clicked in an alarmingly Gerard-esque tone.   
Alright, yeah. This could not get any freakier. It was  _officially_  time to go.   
He scrambled to his feet and darted through the shrubbery and onto the path. It was probably the fastest he'd moved in months, but he didn't really feel like being pecked to a bloody pulp by ravens or gutted by some supreme psychopath. Not today.  
The walk home was chock-full of paranoid backwards glances and more than his fair share of miniature heart attacks. These woods gave him the fucking creeps.  
  
\--------------------------  
It was a wonder he'd made it home.  
Somehow, someway, he'd managed- but only after crashing through the woods for god knows how long and obtaining two scraped knees and a gallery of mystery scratches. He was sore as a motherfucker, but he'd made it.  
He shut the front door behind him and leaned his back against it, letting out a wispy sigh. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep like the fucking dead for the next 40 years, but he had shit to take care of.   
First on the list: Minimize maternal fussing.  
Gerard hadn't had a glimpse of his reflection in days, but his face still felt swollen and raw as ever from Friday's events and he was pretty sure his busted lip was scabbed over. He decided he must look pretty knocked up. Sort of like he'd been living in the woods for the past three days. (Ha!)   
Unfortunately, the route to the closest mirror in the house was bound to lead him straight into his mom or Mikey, so instead he settled for the screen of his (very dead) cell phone.   
"Holy shit," he mumbled, his lip curling in disgust. Was that seriously him? He looked like fucking  _Swamp Thing._    
Swamp Gerard stared back at him with his dirk caked face and blackened eye. God, he even looked shittier than usual. He ruffled his (grimy) (twig and dead leaf infested) hair and pulled his hood over his head in attempt to hide some of the damage he'd acquired.  _Good as it's gonna get._  he thought. Time to make his "back from the dead" debut. He slunk off into the house to find his mom.  
  
\----------------------  
Donna Way was not amused when Gerard entered the kitchen with his arms stretched out in front of him, limping, groaning, and giving his very best zombie impression. It was a grade A imitation, if Gerard did say so himself. She didn't applaud, but she did, however, nearly drop her coffee mug. He'd like to think her shock was due to his Oscar-worthy performance- but it was probably just his face.  
After the initial "don't-you-ever-fucking-scare-me-like-that-again-Gerard-Arthur-Way-you-are-out-of-your-mind," there were equal amounts of cooing and forehead kisses. Gerard refused to tell his mom exactly what had happened, and after only a few minutes of prodding, she gave up. After a short lecture and a generous slathering of Neosporin to Gerard's face, things were seemingly back to normal.  
Gerard propped himself up on the kitchen counter, sipping at the glass of ice water his mom had insisted he'd drink and watching her bake.  
"Where's Mikey?" Gerard wondered aloud.  
"Bookstore," she said, ashing her lipstick stained cigarette into the flower pot on the window sill. He wondered how she managed to both smoke and make muffins simultaneously with those claw-like acrylics on. Multitasking, he guessed. It was a mom thing. She dumped a bag of frozen blueberries into the mixing bowl. "I thought maybe if I gave him some cash to blow, he'd get outta my hair for a while." The muffin batter took on a sickly purplish hue as she stirred it. Like, scientifically engineered flesh eating toxic slime. Or something. "He's a royal pain in the ass when you're not around, y'know. He needs you." She smiled at him, her cigarette hanging out the corner of her mouth. She smelled like hairspray and cheap perfume and her clumped mascara was smudged underneath her eyes. She looked tired.   
Gerard just rolled his eyes and his mom shot him an amused glance when she caught him scooping some of the batter (fluorescent alien goo) into his mouth with his fingers.   
"When you get salmonella, I am  _so_  not paying the hospital bill."  
Fuck, he'd missed being home.  
  
\---------------------  
Gerard somehow managed to close the basement door behind him with the stack of shit he was carrying teetering dangerously in his arms. Coffee sloshed threateningly, dripping on his sketchbook, but there were no major spills. A miraculous achievement, if he did say so himself.   
He'd forgotten how badly it fucking reeked down here. It May have bothered your average Joe, but oddly enough, Gerard was comforted by it. A room that stank of stagnant coffee and stale cigarette smoke and god knows what else was totally OK in his books.   
He literally launched himself into bed superhero-style and situated himself on top of his Nightmare on Elm Street sheets and a splay of shitty artwork. He knew he should definitely get some sleep so his brain didn't liquefy and pour out of his nose at school tomorrow, but something was seriously irking him. It had a good grip on his stomach, twisting and wringing and  _stabbing._  It was almost unbearable. Like, nails-on-a-chalkboard-unbearable. There was something  _seriously_  off about those woods.   
That sort of stale-mildew smell that hung heavy in the air and dwelled deep in Gerard's lungs. Carrion. Ravens. The backpack- oh god- the backpack. And Neutrex, fucking  _Neutrex_  , seriously? To think he's spent two whole nights out there, too. He could've been mince meat by now. He was having a hard time coming up with a rational explanation and he was becoming frantic as he scoured every corner of his brain and the possibilities dwindled. What kind of person does something like that? Fuck, he couldn't even put Bert to it. He was seriously going to vomit the contents of his abdomen onto his crumby teal carpet. (Maybe it would end up in plastic bags.)   
Somebody was out there. Somebody was fucking  _out there,_  and they were picking animals, or  _people_  off. Living off of Moon Pies and fondling intestines, probably.  
Oh god. Wait.  _Wait._    
He'd left the backpack open.  
 _He'd left the fucking backpack open._  
FUCK.  
What if they'd seen him? Or followed him home?   
They probably weren't down with letting people off easy after they'd discovered their secret.  
Gerard wrung his hands together. For all he knew, they were watching him from behind a heap of dirty clothes, plotting which organ to harvest first. They could be-  
"Geraaaaaaaarrd?" He nearly jumped out of his skin and straight through the ceiling.   
"Jesus," Gerard grumbled, doing his best to collect himself and pulling his sleeves over his shaking hands.  _Get a fucking hold of yourself._  
"Yeah, Mikey. M'down here," he eventually called back.  
 _Click._  The door closed. Considering his brother weighed just about as much as a fucking 10 year old girl, the decrepit stairs barely even made a sound as Mikey came down them.   
He rounded the corner in a faded Anthrax shirt, his wrinkling his nose behind his glasses. (at the basement stench, probably.) A stack of well loved, tattered comics was tucked underneath one spindly arm.  
Gerard pushed a fair amount of crushed Coke cans and ketchup-stained paper plates off the bed so Mikey could sit.   
Suddenly, he didn't give much of a shit about talking ravens or or gut filled backpacks anymore.  
  
\-------------------------  
"Dude, no. You can't deny Salem's Lot. It's like the vampire novel of the century."  
Gerard shook his head and reached over the ashtray for his coffee.  
"Well, yeah," he took a sip, grimacing when he realized it had gone cold. Gross. "Don't get me wrong, vampires are totally badass. I guess i'm just more of a Pet Sematary kind of guy. I mean, a malevolent undead cat, kids getting squashed by semis, a magical graveyard. C'mon. What more could you ask for, honestly?"  
"Vampires."  
Gerard snorted and took another gulp out of his mug, determined not to waste a drop. Cold or not, caffeine was serious business. And should be treated as such.  
They remained in the basement well into the evening, trading Ramones and Morrissey CDs, eating copious amounts of blueberry muffins, and bickering over the probable cause of the apocalypse. Not once did Mikey ask where he'd been all weekend or why his face looked like legitimate death, and Gerard was immensely grateful. He opted not to tell his brother about the day's events. Because c'mon, it was nothing.  
\ It wasn't shit.


	2. Chapter Two

_And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain_  
 _Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;_  
 _So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating_  
 _"'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,_  
 _Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door:_  
 _This it is and nothing more."_  
  
 _Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,_  
 _"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;_  
 _But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,_  
 _And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,_  
 _That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door:_  
 _Darkness there and nothing more._  
  
  
\----------  
  
"Please tell me you plan on showering," Gerard's mom huffed as he groggily stumbled upstairs. It was a fucking miracle he hadn't tripped over his own feet and splattered the contents of his skull onto the cement steps. That would have been a total pain in the ass to clean up.

  
He slumped into one of the dining room chairs, the warped wood creaking over the sudden weight, and lolled his head in self pity. His black, tangled to shit bedhead flopped over his eyes.  _Fuck,_  he was tired.

  
This whole "school" thing was seriously unfair. Was he really expected to haul his own ass out of bed before fucking 7am? And make himself look at least reasonable presentable? Wash his hair and wear their ugly as fuck uniform (monkey suit) for 7 and a half hours just so he could be force fed shit he didn't care to learn? Yeah, no. Fuck that. Talk about cruel and unusual. He'd rather sit down on the couch with an ice cold glass of bleach and a loaded shotgun.

  
Gerard let out an exaggerated groan and allowed his head to fall, which slammed full force into the kitchen table with a satisfying thunk. Accumulated cigarette ash smeared across his forehead. He could smell coffee but it was  _so far away..._  

  
"Shower? Fuck no," he grumbled into the scuffed wood. There was no way in hell he was showering. No fucking way. He didn't care how much the previous weekend had reduced him to something that resembled road kill. He didn't  _care_  if he reeked of swamp slime and rotting flesh. He'd only achieved a maximum of what, 3 hours of sleep last night despite having been  _beyond_  exhausted. His mind had been plagued with fucking  _holy terrors_  and now his mom wanted him to be  _hygienic?_  Hilarious.

  
_clunk._  His mom set a mug full of black coffee and a handful of little pastel colored pills in front of her sleep deprived zombie son, who peered up at her from behind his arms. Her eyes seemed to soften when Gerard's face came into view, probably because he resembled a moldy peach with his naked face and black eye. Or something. 

  
She was already dressed, sporting a bedazzled Iron Maiden shirt (what the fuck?) ((seriously??)) and washed out blue jeans. Her platinum hair was teased a good 6 inches high, as per usual. In fact, she looked like she'd spawned straight out of an 80's hair metal band. How she's managed to get the whole shebang done before 6:45am, he had no idea. It wasn't even human.

  
"Okay, one? Watch your goddamn mouth," she paused, fiddling with her pink lighter that had "bitch" scrawled across it in cursive. Gerard watched as her cigarette ignited, sending smoke curling up to the already stained ceiling. "Two, you're showering. Seriously, you're seventeen and I still have to remind you to wash yourself?" She ran her claws- er, nails through her hair. "Besides, you smell like, ten times worse than usual. At least." 

  
She ground out her cigarette prematurely in the ashtray in front of Gerard.(Which he was so going to snatch the second she left the house.) Fishing around in her purse, she uncovered a compact mirror which she eyed herself in. Her staple  ~~excessive~~  slathering of cherry red lipstick was applied. Gerard wondered what the customers who came through her lane at the department store thought of her getup.

  
"I gotta run. There are poptarts in the pantry, I think." she shoved the lipstick tube back into her bag. "Oh, and don't forget to take your medication, got it?"

  
"Fine. Yeah. Bye, mom," he sighed. He only thing he'd really registered about what she'd just said was that there were poptarts.

  
She pecked him on the forehead (probably leaving behind a goopy vermilion stain, fucking  _gross_.)

  
"Bye, hon." The door closed behind her and Gerard caught a final glimpse of the '86 Cadillac as it pulled out of the driveway and onto the cracked-to-shit road.

  
He sullenly pulled his coffee mug closer to him and cupped it in his hands, allowing the warmth to seep through his skin and penetrate his bones. The pattering of raindrops on the roof were beginning to echo throughout the house, and Gerard made a mental note to place a mixing bowl under the cracked spot in the kitchen ceiling before he left. 

  
He exhaled loudly into the empty dining room. He did  _not_  want to go to school- no fucking thank you. He'd rather splinter his own ribs with his bare hands then swallow the bone shards. Or like, eat an entire can of cat food. Anything that would deem him unfit to attend. Mikey was most likely already up and running, fully caffeinated and probably even clad in his uniform.

Fuck.

  
Gerard flicked one of his pills off the table with his thumb and forefinger, a pale blue one, which bounced off the wall and straight into the air vent.

   
Alright, yeah. He was definitely ditching today. He wasn't showering, either. And he sure as hell wasn't swallowing his medication. Nobody was looking. It didn't matter.

  
He batted the remaining three pills into the vent, bidding them each a final 'fuck you' as he did so.

  
Gerard heaved himself up and retrieved the poptarts from the pantry- catching his hand on a cobweb in the process which was  _not_  cool- and was disheartened to find that they were strawberry. No, more than disheartened. Gerard was fucking  _crestfallen,_  and he was undoubtedly going to spiral into melancholia and  _die_  due to shittily-flavored breakfast pastries.

  
He popped two in the toaster.

  
He added a generous (overkill) splash of pumpkin creamer to his coffee- thank god it was back in season- and gazed out the hazy window above the sink, sipping and thinking. Leaves tumbled in the morning October breeze in a whirlwind of golden auburn. Beyond his decaying backyard fence, the woods stretched for miles, the mouth of the forest sneering at him.

  
Okay- he couldn't just fucking pretend the whole incident in the woods yesterday had never happened, come  _on._  Uncovering a backpack stuffed full of body parts wasn't exactly a day to day norm, nor even  _relatively_  ok. Er, was it even legal to find something like that and keep it to yourself?

  
_What the hell am I supposed to do, call the cops?_

  
Something about snitching in this situation really didn't sit right with him. How would Gerard like it if some loser came along and busted his human dissection party?

   
But what if he didn't tell anybody and ended up being like, chucked to pieces and preserved in methanol?

  
Or what if it was inevitable?

  
Seriously, he didn't know what the fuck to do. But for now, he decided, his lips were sealed. He had to be careful. Who knew what sort of total bozo he was dealing with? 

  
The toaster popped. Gerard stared at it dully.

  
_Fuck you._

  
He wasn't so hungry anymore.  
  
\-----------------  
  
"Mom is totally gonna chew you out, y'know," Mikey said through a mouthful of charred poptart. He'd practically burnt it to shit- plus it was strawberry. Gerard eyed him in disgust.  
"Dude. We'll just tell her I like, contracted E. coli," or something equally menacing.

  
"Foolproof," Mikey chimed, getting up and slam-dunking his breakfast remains into the trash. Two points.

  
Gerard was slouched over his sketchbook, a half-assed illustration of Dracula in drag under his pencil. Complete with heels and a feather boa. He was occupied shading in Count's 6 inch pumps when a bony Mikey-finger tapped his arm.

  
"Hm? Oh, uh. Let's see."

  
Mikey was having quite the fucking heyday trying to get his school tie knotted correctly. He watched, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose, as Gerard struggled with the striped silk. It was tangled hopelessly, essentially, and Gerard wasn't sure he'd be of much assistance. They were destined to fail.

  
7:35. Five minutes late, after reluctantly abandoning the necktie and struggling into his navy blue school blazer, Mikey lurched out the door to catch the bus, leaving Gerard with the house to himself. He felt a small twinge of guilt for forcing Mikey to brave the school bus alone, but he pushed it aside.

  
After a four hour catnap, half a dozen cups of coffee, and an ample smearing of eyeliner, Gerard regarded himself as marginally ready to face the day. Sort of.  
  
\-----------------  
  
Gerard's shoes squelched obnoxiously underneath him and raindrops drummed against his hood. Thank fucking god Belleville was only moderate in size, because his lungs were seriously starting to cavil at all this walking. The cigarette tucked between his lips probably wasn't doing him much good, either.

  
To keep himself occupied, he'd opted to made a trip to a music shop that was settled about a half mile from Gerard's house- CD Warehouse, it was called. He was notorious for blowing copious amounts of money there, so he's made the decision only to bring enough cash for a CD or two; something both he and Mikey would like, maybe. Something that, for once, wasn't Morrissey or The Smiths. Bona Drag was seriously getting old after hours of playing on repeat- they were in desperate need of some new material.

  
He'd avoided that shortcut that required him to cross through the impending doom that was the woods. Just the thought of trekking back out there so soon was enough to make his skin crawl. It was probably muddy as fuck out there, anyway.

  
It was yet another dreary day, dark clouds hanging heavy and looming overhead, drenching Belleville and making everyone's lives a genuine pain in the ass. Gerard, however, was thoroughly enjoying the waterlogged streets and frigid air. He supposed he was a shitty weather enthusiast of sorts. Partially because of the fond memories he had of him and Mikey tromping about in it when they were younger, soaking each other.s clothes through with murky puddle water. This had been a rare occasion, however, due to the ridiculously high crime rate in Jersey- particularly the town they lived in. Seriously, fucking sewer rat psychopaths and mafia related bullshit had people dropping like flies. And the last thing their mother wanted was one of her sons to fall victim and be the next corpse found face down and bloated in the pond by the park. So, when they were granted permission to venture outside ("don't you dare take one step off that driveway, do you understand me?") it was under the watchful eye of their mother, who peered apprehensively through the curtains. Ready to unleash her unforgiving mom-wrath on any unlucky bastard who decided to lay a hand on either of her boys. 

  
Aside from the nostalgia, the main reason Gerard preferred such undesirable conditions was that he was less likely to be jostled around by some asshole waging psychological and physical warfare. Whether they were looking for money or just somebody to take their pent up anger out on, that shit wasn't fun. Gerard figured he was considerably safer walking alone downtown when it was raining fucking sheets because, c'mon, who else in their right mind would be out besides him? It was a shit town full of shit people and when he went out, Gerard found it more than ideal to avoid others at all costs. 

  
Besides, the last thing he needed was a run in with Bert, the fucking goon. He wasn't really in the mood for having his lip busted open again and bleeding all over his Misfits shirt. Nope.  
  
Gerard lingered outside the shop to finish the remaining half of his cigarette, taking deep drags and blowing them out into the clammy air. There was something about cigarettes that never failed to clear his head- toxic smoke and chemicals killing off his brain cells, probably. But despite the stick of rat poison between his fingers and the brain cell massacre going on somewhere beneath his skull, he couldn't keep his mind from trailing back to the woods. He wondered if the backpack was still out there, soaked through from the rain and its contents beginning to decompose. Ravens tearing at the bags and spilling them over the forest floor, worms emerging from the damp earth to get their fill. Or worse- maybe it had been retrieved by its rightful owner, who had it hoisted on their back, on to commit further evil doings. 

  
Maybe it had been disposed of. Maybe the bags had been emptied into the canal, which carried the crimson sludge shit to the shore and into the ocean.

  
Maybe it had been refilled with fresh, new treasures. Still warm.

  
Gerard couldn't decide which was more gruesome; it all made his stomach fucking churn.

  
He just couldn't wrap his fucking mind around it. Hell, he was even starting to consider the possibility that it hadn't happened at all. The possibility that he's been hallucinating due to lack of food and water, or whatever. 

  
Or maybe he was just batshit crazy. 

  
Gerard shuddered and dropped his cigarette into a pool of rainwater that had gathered in a crevice of the sidewalk. It sizzled to a soggy end.

 

  
  
"Holy shit," Gerard whispered. He was never any less impressed by the amount of good music they'd managed to cram into a fucking 30x30 lot. He weaved through the rows of wooden shelves and thumbed through the plastic cases excitedly as he went. Black Flag, Pulp; they had  _everything._  Why the fuck hadn't he brought like, his entire life savings with him? And his college fund? And Mikey's? Who the fuck needed art school when they could have a physical copy of every CD known to man? He sure as hell didn't.

  
He was inspecting the cover of an album, dazed, when suddenly somebody brushed past his back. The damp fabric of his shirt tickled his skin and caused him to shudder involuntarily.

   
He hadn't heard the bell on the door sound like it had when he himself had entered. He'd probably been so engulfed and overwhelmed by the vast selection of music that he hadn;t noticed them come in. 

  
"Oh. Oh, sorry," he mumbled, inching closer to the shelf to make room for them to pass. 

  
He'd apparently also been oblivious as to the size of the aisles. Now that he'd been forced to share them and his balls were half smashed against the shelf, he realize just how fucking narrow they were.

  
Gerard watched the figure through his peripheral vision as the shrugged past in one swift motion. He released an internal sigh of relief. 

  
But then shit got weird.

  
Instead of continuing on deeper into the shop, the person lingered at his side, their bicep pressed lightly against Gerard's. He shot a questioning glance at the stranger, but they had insisted on being so fucking close to him that he only caught a glimpse of thick black hair. Rain water dripped from it and onto the CD cases below.

  
Jesus, okay, he was getting fucking uncomfortable. Yeah, the aisles were tight, but not cling-to-the-person-beside-you-for-dear-life tight. Why this guy was practically riding Gerard's ass, he had no idea. He attempted to pull his arm closer to his chest, which only resulted in mister "I have no concept of personal space" leaning in closer.

  
_what the fuck...._

  
"Mmmm," an impossibly smooth yet grating voice sounded to his left "no worries." The belated response caught him off guard and abruptly, he felt fucking ill.  
Gerard shouldered the guy off him.

His perpetrator looked up.

 

  
Hazel eyes the size of the moon gazed back at him and chapped lips curled into a smirk. Midnight strands framed a sharp jaw, skin blindingly pale.

  
"You know," the fox-like man muttered, revealing slightly crooked front teeth "You really shouldn't wander around the woods at night. Not alone." His voice was laced with dead leaves and cloudy skies. Thick with frigid waters. "You never know what's out there." 

  
Maybe it was the glint in his eyes, like coals smoldering behind his pupils. Or the ink crawling up his arms, or the way his voice seemed to hollow Gerard out as it ghosted through his ears and made a home in the pit of his stomach.

  
Something about this guy was fucking  _off,_  and that something was really bugging Gerard out.

   
"Uh-" he started, but immediately clamped his mouth shut as callused fingers reached out towards Gerard.

A ghastly smile stretched across the dude's face, wide as a fucking chelsea grin, as he grasped the fabric of Gerard's shirt.

  
_what the legitimate fuck_

  
Okay, he was starting to panic. He contemplated whirling around and hauling ass out to the woods- no, not the woods, because fucking Jeepers McCreepers knew he hung around there. So instead, he held his breath and waited for this guy to get his fucking hands off him. 

  
"Misfits," he rasped, the jagged grin still fixed on his lips.

  
Gerard peered down at his shirt. The ragged skull logo glared back at him.

  
"Oh! He, yeah," he sputtered nervously. "You like them...?

  
The guy released his grip and slid his hand in his pocket, looking up at Gerard with lidded eyes through silky black hair

.  
"Seriously? Abso-fucking-lutely."

  
Gerard felt the corners of his mouth begin to tug up at that. This was the first human interraction he's had in months, excluding with his mom and Mikey, that hadn't gone horribly awry.(Yet.) Sure, the guy was weird as fuck. But he liked the Misfits and he was willing to strike up a conversation. So Gerard allowed himself to smile slightly.

"Who might you be?" the dude mused, taking a half step closer.

  
It didn't exactly feel right, telling him his name, but he couldn't justify why.

  
"Oh, um. Gerard." he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

  
"Gerard...?"

  
He fixed his eyes on the shelves of CDs, flipping through them in false concentration. Fuck, he could practically  _feel_  this guy staring at him.

  
"Gerard Way," he forced out, glancing sideways. The dude was a good 4 or 5 inches shorter than him, he realized. How the fuck was he so intimidating? "What about you...?

  
"Don't worry about it," what... green flecked eyes scattered Gerard's thoughts in a million different directions. They were nauseatingly intelligent.

  
"Uh, you won't tell me your name?" He did his best to mask his exasperation, but faltered under that burning gaze.

  
"It don't mean much," the guy said in a low voice, and suddenly there he was, his forehead only inches from Gerard's nose. He smelled of rain water and cigarettes and mint gum, oddly comforting. His breath was cool on Gerard's chest, raising the hair on the back of his neck and voiding his thoughts. What the  _fuck_  was this guy's deal with personal space?

  
Maybe this whole ordeal  _was_  going horribly awry.

  
"I like you, Gerard Way," he murmured. "We..." His hand shot down, snatching Gerard's wrist in a white blur. Jesus, he was fucking  _cold.._  "We'll make quite the pair."

  
His grip on Gerard's wrist was rock fucking solid as he lifted his hand to his lips, parting them with Gerard's fingers. Grazing those crooked teeth. And fuck, Gerard couldn't complain.

  
Then all at once, it was over, and Gerard caught a final glimpse of a patched jacket before the small figure slipped out the back door. 

  
_what..._

  
Wave after wave of confusion crashed over him. What had even just happened?

   
Hell knows how long he stood there, his fingers extended towards the absence of cracked lips.

  
Long enough to irritate the living fuck out of the store owner, that's for damn sure. 

  
"Hey, kid. Ya buy something or ya butt out. Hello?" 

  
Gerard was hardly conscious of his presence, but allowed himself to be shooed out the door. 

  
Brain dead. No signal.

  
"Getcha head outta your ass, numbskull. Let's go."  
  
Despite the valiant protest his lungs put up, he hauled himself all the way home.

   
He felt queasy.


	3. Chapter Three

_Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,  
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;  
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,  
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'  
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'  
Merely this and nothing more._  
  
  
\------------------------------  
  
On the walk home, brain waves remained ambient and non-functioning at first. But when things eventually started to seep in and penetrate, Gerard was absolutely beside himself. Literally- it was almost as if he were hovering among the trees, watching as his body stumbled down the sidewalk.   
Irises flecked with green burned at the back of Gerard's mind and he could't help but glance over his shoulder from time to time.  _Fuck,_  he couldn't get that ghostly presence out of his mind; but he did his goddamn best to push it aside until he was home and refrain from tripping over his legs and cracking his skull open on the pavement.   
  
Part of him wished he would have.   
  
The second Gerard's feet met the bedraggled welcome mat on the front porch, he quickly decided that first thing was first- he needed a fucking drink. Pronto.  
He outright  _refused_  to even begin to decipher what had just happened. He wasn't allowing his mind to stray back to the forest, or the CD shop, or the ragged creep he'd come into contact with. Not yet, he wasn't. Not sober.  
  
He retrieved his house key from his jacket pocket and fumbled with it until it entered the key hole. Jesus, his hands were shaking like a motherfucker. The door swung open, banging loudly and jarring his brain as it came into contact with the inside wall, and he lurched inside.   
  
The whiskey was kept in plain sight, settled on the kitchen counter next to the infamous poptart box. His mom had never made much of an attempt to hide the booze, despite Gerard's growing attraction to it. He figured she didn't mind much if he took a couple swigs every once in a while, but little did she know, those occasional drinks had escalated to countless nights spent practically drowning in the amber hellfire. Gerard knew he was wading in murky water and he knew his self control was non-existent; so he doused the agonizing reminiscences of his school life with whiskey and coke. Set fire to the memories in the form of sticks of nicotine- and fuck, he didn't mind at all. He never felt more at home than he did after finishing off another glass, another pack, and sinking into a nauseous oblivion. Anything that would put the reoccurring recalls of Bert beating him raw at bay. Anything- even if that meant puking his guts into the school toilet on a bi-daily basis. To Gerard, it was worth it.   
And looking back on the past couple of days- he couldn't handle another second sober. He didn't want to see ziplock bags full of intestines and heavy duty cleaners and fuck knows what else, he didn't want a snaggletoothed dude sneering at him behind his eyelids. He didn't want to be anxiety ridden every waking moment, constantly anticipating a cold blooded murderer leaping out of the woods and removing Gerard's trachea with their bare hands. He just wanted to  _forget_ \- and that's exactly what he was going to fucking do.  
He stalked into the kitchen, eagerly snatching up the bottle and a diet coke from the fridge. Condiments clattered loudly as he shut the door behind him and made his way into the basement with his remedy.   
  
Downstairs, he flopped onto the (cigarette butt and dirty clothes ridden) ground, not bothering to take the 2 additional, grueling steps to his bed.  
  
Why had shit suddenly gone so terribly fucking wrong?  
  
He unscrewed the whiskey bottle cap and tossed it aside, probably to somewhere he'd never be able to find it again. Into a sweaty laundry teenage wormhole abyss.  
  
Guts? In a backpack? One that was no different than the one he took to school every day? How could something so seemingly innocent and familiar be turned into something so gruesomely horrific? Blighted by bloody viscera and malice.  
Neutrex to mop up the mess.  
  
His head spinning, he turned the bottle up and took a few long, burning gulps from the bottle. Grimacing, he cracked the top on the can of coke, which fizzed over onto his fingers.  
  
How had he managed to be so fucking stupid? Leaving the fucking backpack open like a total numbskull.   
They were going to find him, and they were going to tear him the fuck apart. It was inevitable.  
  
Another swig- this time chased with the soda.  
  
And what about that dude at the record store- the one with the smoldering eyes and crooked teeth.  
  
The amber liquid clawed at the walls of his stomach.  
  
The way he'd eyed him almost as if he were prey to be devoured. Wild eyes, scabbed lips.  
  
Yet another mouthful of booze, his vision becoming hazy around the edges.   
  
The way he'd left Gerard yearning for more.  
  
He glanced down at his fingers, remembering the tingling sensation of when they met the guy's mouth.  
And he missed it.  
He missed him.  
  
 _"we'll make quite the pair."_  
What a strange feeling this was.  
 _what a strange feeling._  
Why was this happening?  
 _why was this happening?_  
  
  
\-------------------------  
  
  
Gerard groggily propped himself up on his shoulders, rubbing his eyes, leaving charcoal smears across the back of his hands.   
  
His brain was fucking pond sludge.  
And it fucking  _hurt._    
  
He groaned as loudly as he could, announcing his utter discomfort to nobody in particular. The soundwaves rattled his aching skull.   
Pans clattered in the kitchen above- was somebody seriously home already? He silently willed them to leave him the hell alone for a while. Gerard was seriously doubting his ability to act like anything other than a hungover slob at the moment, and he sure at fuck wasn't in the mood to socialize.   
  
His eyes flicked to the bottle of jack that had tipped over next to him, soaking his jeans in alcohol. He glared at it resentfully.   
Gerard fucking  _hated_  whiskey, and how he undoubtedly  _reeked_  of if. Awesome.   
Blatantly ignoring the sickening stench of liquor, Gerard extended his leg- a tremendous effort- and prodded the on button of his tiny tube TV with his big toe. The wooden stand it was balanced on teetered ominously in the room-rubble and the screen burst to life. Gerard winced at the fluorescent colors on the screen. His  _Night Of The Living Dead_  tape picked up playing where he'd left off last week.  
  
He situated himself in a pile of debris and remained unmoving for what felt like hours. Despite the relentless throbbing behind his eyes, he was content- his racing thoughts had eased. His brain refused to function, and that was more than ideal.  
Eventually, though, his pounding headache got the best of him. He was faced with either the daunting task of trekking upstairs to get some ibuprofen or allowing his brain to swell until his cranium burst. He cut his losses and heaved himself to his feet.  
  
"Christ, Gerard," Donna Way clutched her chest over-dramatically when her bedraggled son emerged from the basement and lumbered into the kitchen. He slunk around her, fiddling with pill bottles in a kitchen cabinet. "You gave me a fucking heart attack. Didn't even know you we're home."  
  
Gerard dumped a handful of the shiny blue capsules into his hand and swallowed them dry, wrinkling his nose as they scraped down his throat.  
  
"Er, yeah. Sorry ma," he mumbled, pressing his temples gingerly. His stomach gurgled menacingly. His mom would  _so_  not appreciate him vomiting all over the linoleum. "Gghmmmf. I was sleeping."   
She peered at him through spider lashes, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. He had a feeling she wasn't buying it; she knew exactly what was up. He was eating painkillers like candy, for fuck's sake, and the fetor or Jack Daniels clung to him.  
Hell, an idiot could tell he was hungover.  
  
She pursed her lips at him, folding her arms over her chest in a tangle of red acrylic claws.  
"Paws off the whiskey, Gerard."  
  
Shit.   
  
"Uh," Gerard stammered stupidly, unable to force his brain to piece an adamant reply together. He felt blood rushing to his cheeks; a dead giveaway.  
  
But instead of the lecture gerard'd been expecting, his mom just smiled knowingly and reached into her back pocket. Bony fingers held out a small sticky note- a grocery list- and a 20 dollar bill.  
  
Oh,  _god_.  
  
"Mom-"  
  
"You owe me," she cut him off, waving the pale blue paper under his nose "big time."  
Gerard growled moodily, snatched up cash and the list,and stalked out the door.   
  
  
\---------------------------  
  
  
Gerard  _hated_  supermarkets as it was, and this hangover wasn't making things much better. He was forced to muster every ounce of willpower he possessed so he wouldn't puke his holy guts out onto his shoes and curl up on the floor of the cereal aisle.  
  
Heads turned and people gawked at him as he passed. He didn't blame them, honestly. He'd checked his reflection in the blank screen of his cell phone minutes earlier and recoiled at his appearance- eyeliner was smudged down to his cheeks and his eyes were red-rimmed and watery. It was fucking gross, and he almost pitied the other shoppers who laid eyes on him.   
  
 _okay,_  he told himself grimly  _let's get this the fuck over with._  
  
He weaved through dimly lit aisles, picking through the list as he went and loading his arms with groceries. bagels, coffee, four cans of tomato soup, and a gallon of milk later, his arms were screaming in protest. 17 years of blatantly refusing to work out were definitely biting him in the ass.  
  
Alright, it was time to get the fuck out of there before he either blew chunks or his arms gave out on him.   
  
His muscles urged him to head to checkout, but he decided to pick up something for Mikey.  
  
He limped to aisle 6, seriously beginning to pity himself as the load of food weighed him down, to grab a box of those oatmeal cream cookies that his brother loved so much. They were fucking gross, in Gerard's opinion, but Mikey could definitely use the extra calories.   
  
As he was reaching for the box, something caught him off guard. So fucking off guard that he nearly fell on his ass and dropped everything he was holding.  
  
On the bottom shelf of the aisle, there was a vacant section between the other rows of packages, like somebody had bought out the whole lot.  
  
Under the bare shelf, a barcode and a crescent logo glared up at him.   
  
It read  _"Moon Pies"_.   
  
  
\----------------------------  
  
  
Mikey beamed gleefully at Gerard, hugging the soggy box of oatmeal cookies to his chest.  
  
"You're the best, Gee," he set the box down on the coffee table and pulled his beanie down over his ears. The cardboard squelched as the lanky boy tore into it.  
  
"Ah," Gerard said, waving his arm "s'nothing. Sorry they got wet, though. Fuckin' bipolar weather." He slipped his hoodie off and hung it over the back of the armchair he was sitting in.   
  
Jersey had decided to be a sly son of a bitch and rain on Gerard's grocery parade. No- it had taken the grocery parade and beat it to shit with an aluminum baseball bat. He and all the groceries had been soaked through entirely, leaving him in an even worse mood than he'd been in before. Sure, he liked rain; but not the i'm-going-to-drown-you-like-a-fucking-sewer-rat-because-I'm-nature-and-i'm-an-asshole kind of rain.  
  
Mikey looked up, his cheeks stuffed with cookies and his glasses only halfway on his face.  
"Mmfffghf," he said honestly.   
  
Gerard snickered and snagged one from the box, ignoring Mikey's swatting hands.   
  
The Way brothers spent the afternoon in the living room, afghans over their shoulders and oblivious to the outside conditions.   
Every once in a while, Gerard would phase out of conversations, wondering what the ravens did when the weather went to shit. Or the people who wandered the street begging for spare change, the people with no place to call home.   
  
He wondered, and rain pelted the windows.   
  
  
\----------------------  
  
  
Sometime around dusk, angry clouds began to part. Hues of orange and purple and red seeped through the cracks and cast spectacular reflections in the dewdrops gathered on cobwebs and dying bluegrass. Silhouettes of sycamores loomed on the horizon and as far as the eye could see. The air was crisp; and for once, Belleville seemed beautiful.   
  
Gerard shrugged into the mouth of the woods, eyes directed upwards in complete awe. Fuck, it was gorgeous. Minutes before, he had shoved his anxiety aside and pulled on his shoes to witness the post-storm beauty, in fear that he would never see anything quite this breathtaking again.   
He wished he could drink up the colors surrounding him, or the soft patter of accumulated rain dripping onto the forest floor below.  
  
Gerard wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he figured it didn't matter much. as long as he watched his back and refrained from getting himself lost again. He'd be fine- right?  
  
After a good 15 minutes of walking deeper into the forest, he came across a large clearing. It was adorned with knee-high grass and various boulders protruded from it. The vivid colors had begun to vanish from the sky above him and the temperature had dropped noticeably, signaling that the sun had dipped below the horizon.  
  
He trotted over to one of the smaller boulders and scrabbled on top of it, his arms still aching from the grocery run. Gerard pulled a pack of cigarettes from his front jeans pocket-a brand new one- and hit it against his palm a couple of times to pack it.  
  
He slid one of the sticks in his mouth and set it ablaze. The comforting orange glow was hypnotizing.  
  
He sat like that for a while, cross legged and savoring the thick smoke. But once he'd ground out the first cigarette and lit another, Gerard was suddenly hit upside the head with immense regret.   
  
Here he was again.  
Alone in the woods after dark with no clear route home.   
His heart beat wildly in his chest and he gritted his teeth, willing himself calm.   
Everything was fine. Everything was-  
  
  
"COme out," a familiar voice squawked.  
  
Fucking birds..  
  
"COME-OUT,"  
  
 _Weird_  fucking birds, at that.  
  
"wheREV-er you-ARe."  
  
Gerard froze.  
  
Twigs and dead leaves crunched directly behind him; footsteps belonging to something that was making no attempt of hiding itself.  
  
Gerard reeled back in terror, losing his grip in the boulder and hitting the ground below with a hollow thunk. He scrambled to his feet, tall grass grazing his legs, scanning the vegetation around him.  
 _Fuck_ , he couldn't see  _anything._  His chest was beginning to ache from his heart's furious beating. He had never been this fucking petrified in his l-  
  
 _snap._  
  
Branches splintered behind him, getting closer now.  
  
Gerard's instincts commanded him to bolt off into the general direction of his house, but his tendons /refused to move.  
  
 ** _Crunch._**  
  
 _They were right fucking behind him._  
  
"Hello, Gerard Way," lips grazed Gerard's ear. Rough, chapped lips...  
  
His breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice.  
  
Slowly, his vital organs threatening to fail on him, Gerard turned around.   
  
And there he was.  
  
The same muddy, olive eyes pierced through Gerard's skin. This time, however, they had been outlined lightly in black- only increasing their magnetic charm.   
The smaller dude stared up at Gerard, unblinking and entirely still.   
  
He was going to fucking faint.  
  
"Um," Gerard forced out, swallowing hard "hi."  
  
The pale son of a bitch in front of him just cocked an eyebrow at him.  
  
"You gonna get that, or are you gonna burn Belleville to the ground?" Amused, he gestured a gloved hand at Gerard's feet.  
  
"Huh? Oh, fucking  _shit_ ,"  
  
Gerard must have dropped his cigarette sometime during the scare, because a small flame had begun to lick at the dead leaves littering the ground.   
He stomped out the flames hurriedly, obliterating the perfectly good cigarette in the process.  
  
A fox-esque snicker sounded at his side and Gerard looked down to find long, pale fingers snaking around his upper arm. They were flecked with the remains of black nail polish.  
  
Gerard almost sighed aloud at the ecstasy of the sensation; he'd been itching for it all goddamn day. But he had to remind himself that this was a total stranger, a goddamn  _bizarre_ stranger.   
Reluctantly, he eased his arm away from the guy and turned so they were face to face.  
  
Er, almost face to face.  
  
The smaller figure smirked up at Gerard, the asshole, the reflection of the night sky flickering in his huge eyes.   
  
"Dude," Gerard started, "who even are you?"  
  
The smirk didn't falter, but grew until the anemic-looking lips parted and morphed into a twisted  _grin,_  baring jagged teeth at Gerard.   
  
Gerard gnawed at the inside of his cheek.  
  
"Mmm," he chuckled, keeping his eyes locked with Gerard's. Deep black hair whipped around his face. "If you must know; the name's Frank." His voice grated through Gerard's ears.  
  
 _Frank._  
  
Gerard broke the staring contest they'd been having and shifted his weight uncomfortably.   
He fixed his eyes on his mucked up converse, fidgeting, until Frank coughed gruffly and retrieved a crushed box of Marlboro reds from his denim jacket.  
Gerard watched his nimble fingers select a cigarette and place it between his lips- fuck, now Frank had an eyebrow raised at an impossible angle at Gerard. He'd probably been like, _drooling_.  
  
"What, are you gonna reprimand me for smoking in your presence? My apologies, your highness." He kept the cigarette pressed between his lips as he spoke, gesturing sarcastically with his hands.  
  
"Wh- oh, dude. No," Gerard laughed uneasily and waved his own pack for Frank to see. "No reprimanding here."  
  
"Good deal," Frank agreed, sparking up a lighter and casting shadows over his face.  
  
Gerard was becoming lightheaded.   
Because one? How the fuck did frank find him all the way out here?   
Two, it was getting  _way_  dark. Gerard knew damn well weird shit happened out here at night, yet here he was, hanging out with somebody he barely knew.   
Three? The raven thing? What the legitimate  _hell?_    
And also, fuck. Frank was definitely not lacking in the whole physical appearance department.  
  
As if to prove his point, Frank allowed his jaw to go slack, smoke curling from his lips.  
  
Definitely not lacking.  
  
"Here," Frank chucked his tattered pack in Gerard's direction, snorting when it smacked him in the chest. Gerard shot him a questioning glance.   
  
"Er, I can just smoke my own-"  
  
"Not when I'm around, you won't." Frank interjected, then took another drag off his cigarette.   
He held his smokes funny, Gerard noted. Between his thumb and forefinger.  
  
Unable to think of much to say, Gerard just blinked and took a cigarette from the pack.   
  
  
After a few agonizing minutes of silence- Gerard shuffling his feet awkwardly, taking long drags from his cigarette and Frank watching him intently- Frank snagged Gerard's hang and tugged him him roughly, looking up at him with devilish eyes.  
  
Gerard stifled a groan as seemingly hypothermic fingers interlocked with his own. Calloused and firm.  
  
"C'mere," he urged, the reflection of the stars above them glistening in his irises "let me show you something, Gerard."  
  
Gerard's stomach flipped, in serious danger of ejecting itself from his body.  
He hesitated, keeping his feet planted firmly in the tall grass.  
He had school tomorrow.  
He couldn't really afford to ditch again just so he could run off into the woods with somebody he hardly knew.   
Into the woods where just a day prior, he'd uncovered the most gruesome and perturbing thing he'd ever seen in his life.  
He couldn't really afford it.  
  
Frank tightened his grip on Gerard, digging his fingernails into the tendons of his wrist.  
  
Or could he?  
  
"C'mon," Frank purred mesmerizingly. "come here,Gerard."   
  
Wide and black rimmed roguish eyes made up Gerard's mind for him.  
  
Hand in gloved hand with the guy with skin so white it was nearly transparent, the guy with the jagged fox grin. The guy with a rough voice laced with decomposition and the guy with muddy hazel eyes that smoldered as he spoke.  
hand in hand with frank-   
  
He allowed himself to be led deeper into the sycamores.  
  
The moon beamed down upon them from its perch in the sky, casting a dim glow over them.  
Frank lifted his head towards the night sky and spread his arms as they trudged through the foliage, seemingly basking in it.  
His sharp jaw protruded and chiseled features were delineated perfectly in the soft, reflective light.  
  
Gerard's heart began to swell.  
  
Frank was the only person who'd taken any interest in Gerard for as long as he could remember.  
  
And that was all it took to lure him in.   
  
That was all it took.  
  
  
  
  
 _ **"we'll make quite the pair"**_


	4. Chapter 4

_Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,_   
_Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before._   
_`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;_   
_Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -_   
_Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -_   
_'Tis the wind and nothing more!'_

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

 

Fingers intertwined in a wintry embrace and lungs thick with nicotine, Frank tugged Gerard along through the woods, farther and farther away from home.

Their breath came out in wispy puffs and disappeared into the darkening October sky above them. A nearly full moon beamed down upon the two teenagers with fingers interlocked- one with his brow furrowed worriedly, the other with an ugly  snarl fixed on his lips and eyes alight with embers. All was silent aside from the crunch of dying vegetation under their shoes.

 

Gerard’s nerves were beginning to get the best of him, gnawing relentlessly at his stomach like maggots on a corpse.

He glanced nervously over his shoulder, anxiety welling inside of him and threatening to overflow.

What if they were being watched?

Or _f ollowed?_  


His eyes flickered down to frank. The smaller figure had his eyes upturned, scanning the night sky as he effortlessly navigated the forest floor.

How, Gerard had no idea. These woods were fucking _treacherous_ and proved it every chance they got by reaching for Gerard’s ankles with their gross branch-hands. He was fumbling over twigs and protruding roots, clinging onto Frank’s wrist for dear fucking life and in serious danger of tripping and falling on his ass.

Frank had to be fucking superhuman. Or like, a nature connoisseur. Or something.

 

As they trudged on towards whatever the hell Frank insisted on showing Gerard, the silence drug on. His organs felt although they were making their way up his esophagus and threatened to be projectile vomited all over himself.

Morbidly, Gerard envisioned a lanky, scarecrow man emerging from the trees and rushing toward Gerard, a ziplock bag in his outstretched hands.Holding it under Gerard’s mouth as he hunched over, spewing vital organs and miscellaneous bodily fluids. Placing the bag in his backpack for further use.

 

He shuddered and subconsciously tightened his grip around Frank’s hand, causing him to shoot Gerard a phlegmatic, haphazard glance. His milky skin was irradiated in the moonlight.

 

His breath promptly hitched in his throat as Frank constricted Gerard’s hand in response- so tightly that Gerard briefly thought his bones were going to fucking splinter and he couldn’t help but release a small whimper.

Frank curled his lip maliciously, keeping the same aching pressure on Gerard’s hand and making no attempt to relent as they continued to walk.

Gerard gritted his teeth as calloused fingers imperiled Gerard’s bones. If his metacarpals and phalanges weren’t fractured to _shit_ by the end of the night,he’d be genuinely surprised.

 

Grudgingly, he plodded on, ignoring the throbbing pain Frank was inflicting.

 

Bastard.

 

It was about a half hour of dead silence later when Gerard began to grow tired and impatient, his legs issuing a dull ache in protest. Seriously. He was definitely at risk of melting into a pool of sludge then disappearing, like the Wicked Witch of the West. Or something.

 

“Frank?” he asked restlessly, stepping over a perilous, ankle-snapping hole in the dirt and swatting at branches.

 

“Mmmm. What?”

 

Gerard paused a moment, then hesitantly-

 

“Er, where the hell are we going, exactly?”

 

If they kept this up, Gerard’s legs would undoubtedly detach themselves from his body and bury themselves in a shallow grave.

 

Frank suddenly came to a halt as Gerard continued to walk, then yanked his arm backwards in a display of flailing limbs.

 

_jesus christ._

 

A nasty, wrinkled-nosed grin was spread across Frank’s ghostly face as he pulled Gerard closer and alright, yeah. He was going to puke.

 

“I haven’t got a goddamn thing to show you,” Frank murmured through the side of his mouth, still smirking spitefully.

 

Gerard’s jaw dropped and he gaped down at Frank, dumbfounded and slightly annoyed.

They’d suffered this _grueling voyage_ for nothing?

_Seriously?_

What a fucking asshole.

 

He was on the verge of snapping at Frank and losing his shit entirely, a jibe on the tip of his tongue, when the motherfucker jerked Gerard’s arm violently, bringing him down to eye level.

 

His breath was frigid on Gerard’s cheeks and smelled sweetly of mint gum and cigarettes- the same as it had been earlier that day.

Except this time, there was something more. Something behind those lidded eyes and in his frigid touch. Something more than just spearmint and nicotine on his breath.

 

And as Frank pushed his forehead against Gerard’s and released another drawn out, ragged breath against Gerard’s lips..

 

He knew exactly what that something was.

 

It was lust.

 

Gerard felt his eyes widen in utter shock and confusion and possibly even a bit or ardor, himself, as Frank pulled him downwards once more- this time onto the dead leaf and dew ridden ground.

He tapped a small combat boot restlessly in front of Gerard.

 

“Frank-” he started, but quickly clamped his mouth shut as the pale man knelt down  to face him, his mouth pressed into a firm line and his eyes burning.

 

“Do you want to know why I brought you here, Gerard Way?” he sneered, sharp canines glinting in the light of the moon.

 

With that, Gerard recoiled immediately and pulled his knees tightly to his chest, resisting the urge to curl up in the autumn leaves and suck his thumb until sunrise.

What the fuck was up with these mood swings?

Fucking christ almighty, this guy could go from cool as a fucking cucumber to “I am going to devour your entire family in one bite” in a matter of seconds.

His heart thudding, Gerard peered up at frank from behind his knees.

 

“Why..?” He felt small and belittled as Frank, now on his knees, hovered over him.

 

“I’m fucking lonely, okay?” He hissed through clenched teeth. His nostrils flared angrily. “I’m fucking lonely.”

 

Gerard gazed up at Frank from behind his quivering knees, his pulse thudding in his ears.

He didn’t know why he was scared.

The guy was like, half a foot shorter than him. At least.

He didn’t need to be scared.

Did he?

 

Slowly, Gerard untangled his limbs.

“Me too,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on the surrounding lichen.

 

Twigs snapped beside him and suddenly, Frank was settled beside him in the decaying leaves, their arms pressed together tightly. He was fucking _freezing_ , Gerard realized- he could literally feel his bodily warmth being drained from him. The cold seeped through the fabric of his jacket and nipped his skin, causing him to shudder involuntarily.

 

“Stay the night with me, Gerard.” Frank said hoarsely, cocking his head. Raven hair spilled over his forehead. “Stay the night.”

 

Gerard’s spine prickled.

Out here? In the _woods_?

Was this guy fucking serious?

They’d probably be like, eaten alive by foxes.

Or _nightcrawlers_.

 

He shifted uncomfortably; Frank seemed to have gone deadweight and was sort of cutting off the circulation in his brachial artery.

Personal space: zilch.

 

There was no was no way he was staying out here all night. Besides, it was getting cold- the tip of Gerard’s nose beginning to grow numb and his teeth clattering. No way in hell.

He sighed abruptly.

 

“Out here?” He huffed, waving his arm. “Dude, we’d like, die.”

 

Frank snorted, propping himself up.

“Seriously? I’m not fucking homeless, man. I’ve got a place. 15 minutes from here, tops.”

 

Gerard buried his face in his hands, internally kicking himself. _Duh_.

He felt like a fucking moron.

 

“C’mon,” Frank encouraged, headbutting Gerard sharply in the bicep. “I have beer. As much as you can fuckin’ drink. Please.”

 

Gerard rubbed his arm gingerly- he was seriously going to come home tomorrow covered in a head to toe hematoma.

He didn’t have much of a decision to make, did he?

 

“Y’know what? I’d fucking love to.”

 

Frank had gifted Gerard with yet another trademark smirk then hauled him to his feet, taking him by the hand once again and leading him home.

  
  


\-------------------------------------

  
  


Something _putrid_ wafted into Gerard’s nostrils and he resisted the urge to gag as Frank pushed open the door to his apartment.

Because what the hell, it smelled like fucking _fermented puke_ in here and Gerard was almost positive some sort of airborne toxic waste was eating away at his exposed skin.

 

“Ugh, dude,” Gerard screwed his eyes shut. “What the fuck reeks?”

 

Frank, who was apparently immune to the face-malting stench in his apartment, just shrugged non-apologetically.

 

“Something with the pipes,” he muttered as he tugged Gerard out of the doorway and into the dwelling. “Landlord says they’ve been broken for fucking ever. The walls are mildewed and I can’t use the sink in the kitchen. A pretty bad wrap, if you ask me,” He kicked the door shut behind them, leaving behind a muddy footprint. “C’mon. Booze.”

 

He dragged Gerard into what seemed to be... the living room, maybe? And released his hand- finally- and disappeared into what appeared to be a tiny kitchen on the left. The clanking of containers and bottles filled the room and to distract himself from the god-awful mildew smell, Gerard allowed his eyes to wander.

 

So- This was Frank’s place?

It was a dimly lit apartment settled on the top floor of a shady, red-bricked apartment complex bordering the woods. The yellow lighting flickered on occasion and emitted a soft buzzing sound. From what he could see, Frank wasn’t too concerned with his surroundings- sickly brownish splotches had begun to grow on the pale blue walls and the carpet was blotted with god knows what. It was adorned very scarcely; the walls were completely bare. No pictures, no photographs, no nothing. He scanned the living room. A pathetic and ragged couch, its frames peeking out from underneath the fraying fabric. An armchair in the same condition. A tall, burgundy ceramic floor vase that seemed to be empty. And-

 

A miniature refrigerator.

Right smack in the middle of the living room.

 

Gerard felt his eyebrows pull up in confusion.

Maybe the one in the kitchen was broken?

The entire apartment had basically gone to shit- he wouldn’t have been surprised if some of the appliances had stopped working.

But that assumption was swiftly crushed as he peered into the room that Frank had disappeared into.

A full sized refrigerator hung ajar and Frank was kneeling in front of it, fiddling with something inside.

 

His eyes flickered back to the living room.

 

“Stella or Heineken?” Frank called, scattering Gerard’s thoughts. “Also, vodka or bourbon?”

 

Gerard’s stomach churned in protest at the mention of hard liquor. He hadn’t exactly made a valiant recovery from his mid-day whiskey shebang.

 

“Heineken,” he answered, then reluctantly added “And bourbon.”

 

He made a mental note to avoid the bourbon unless he wanted his stomach to liquify.

The light above him flicked off, then Frank appeared next to him carrying a 12 pack of dark green bottles and a full bottle of Jim Beam. And holy shit, he was fucking loaded.

His dark hair hung over his eyes, the beginnings of that sly smirk forming on his lips. He shouldered Gerard forward into a hallway- jesus, did he have to be such a dick?- and uttered,

 

“Last door on the right.”

 

Gerard awkwardly pushed the door open once they reached it and stepped inside, examining it. Thankfully, the rank stench of mildew seemed to have refrained from entering this room- it smelled mostly of cigarettes.

 

Frank ushered him over to a couch in the center of the room, which was situated in front of a television that seemed to have its cords severed. He thrust the corner of the cardboard beer case into the small of Gerard’s back to speed things along, Gerard hissing profanities in response.

 

Frank cooley swept some (mostly) empty coffee mugs onto the ground to make room for the booze, ignoring the splattering of molded and stagnant liquids as they hit the carpet. They both sat, Frank sprawling about the cushions and grabbing a beer for himself. He gestured towards the table.

 

“Go at it,” he said with the smallest hint of a smile. “Can’t stay sober all night.”

 

The glass caught the light of a streetlight outside the window, sending emerald reflections cascading around the room.

 

Next to him, Frank was frowning at an unopened bottle.

 

“These aren’t twist offs, are they?” He mused, gazing at the container with lidded eyes.

 

“Oh, fuck. I guess they aren’t,” Gerard sighed after attempting to open his own with his jacket sleeve over his hand. “Do you not have a bottle opener?”

 

A pop sounded beside him, followed by fizzing and the bitter smell of cheap beer.

 

He gaped at Frank. who sneered back at him, a disfigured bottle cap crushed between his front teeth. Beer fizzled over onto his fingertips.

 

“Wh-”

 

_thump_.

 

Gerard blinked, wiping the sudden wetness from his forehead.

The pathetically mangled Heineken cap lay next to him on the couch cushion.

 

Gerard couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Dude,” he said between bouts of giggles “Did you seriously just fucking spit that at me?”

 

Frank made an “L” with his thumb and forefinger and smacked it against his forehead, hiding a grin behind his beer. Something warm was swelling inside of Gerard.

 

“Dude, how the fuck did you even open that without like, ripping all your teeth out? Here, do mine,” He tossed another bottle to Frank, who looked up at him, a dull edge of humor in his eyes.

 

Gerard watched in amazement as Frank latched his bottom teeth under the cap and tore it off in one swift thrash of his head. He spat it in Gerard’s general direction, then shrugged dismissively

 

“S’nothing,” he laughed, reaching across the couch with the beer. “Here.”

 

Gerard grinned and took the bottle from Frank, their fingers grazing during the exchange. His skin was colder than the bottle.

 

Gerard settled in the crook of the opposite end of the couch, practically chugging beers and stealing frequent glances at Frank. He watched the reflection of the streetlight in his eyes and glint on his lips when they were slick with alcohol.

He found that his lips had begun to tug up out of pure contentment- something he hadn’t felt in quite a while. The beer settled in his stomach, sending a warmth seeping through his muscles, relaxing his tendons, and making up for the long, frigid walk it had been to get here. For once, the alcohol didn’t feel like a crutch.

  
  


Four or maybe five beers later, Gerard sighed happily, throwing his head back against the couch cushion and gazing at the ceiling. He turned to look at Frank, who cocked a bemused eyebrow at him.

 

“Hmm?”

  
  


“Hh-how old’re you, Frank?” he hummed, hopelessly tripping over his words.

 

The small man stared at him, his face entirely blank. He’d removed his jacket, Gerard realized, his inked arms exposed in the black t-shirt and slung over the back of the couch.

 

“Nineteen,” Frank said placidly, brushing a thick strand of hair out of his eyes. He nudged Gerard’s leg with his shoe. “And you?”

 

Gerard stopped and thought for a minute, struggling to recall his age- solid proof of intoxication.

 

“Seventeen,” he replied eventually, nodding to himself. Yes, he was seventeen. Wasn’t he? Fuck, was it just the booze of was Frank like, two hundred and six times better looking than usual? It had to be criminal. Or maybe alien. “Pretty eyes,” Gerard slurred, only somewhat conscious of the stupid look on his face. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”

 

Frank snorted and swatted at him, somehow managing to hook Gerard’s matted hair in his fingers. Gerard blinked slowly and fuck, was Frank getting closer? He contemplated hazily, staring into orbs of liquid golden green lined with charcoal and-

Alright, yeah. Frank was definitely getting closer, he decided, and suddenly it seemed as though his breath was only inches from Gerard’s neck and sending his mind whirling.

He drew air into his lungs slowly, savoring the icy and alcohol-laden breeze coasting over his throat each time Frank exhaled.

 

“I think,” Frank mused, tightening his grip on Gerard’s hair. “I’ve gotten you drunk, Gerard Way.”

 

A ridiculous giggle escaped from Gerard and bounced lightly off the walls. Frank’s pale face seemed to be rippling in waves before his eyes.

 

“Thought so,” Frank whispered hoarsely.

 

_Ow_ \- what? Now Gerard’s head had erupted in pain and his nose was buried in Frank’s shirt- mint gum and nicotine and lust and Heineken- he was engulfed in some sort of warmth.

 

“Come here, you fuck,” Frank’s voice grated in his ear and oh- he understood now. He’d tugged Gerard closer by his hair and slung an arm around his shoulder, closing the gap between them.

Gerard’s heart fluttered drunkenly in belated response.

 

Oh man, fuckin’ oh _man_ , he felt nice. What a nice feeling this was. What a nice feeling.

 

A crackling sounded above him, then a clattering on the coffee table. Something cold was pressed to his lips.

 

“Ggmmhghh?” Gerard said around the unexpected mystery object, confused.

 

“It’s bourbon, dumbass,” Frank murmured into Gerard’s hair. “Drink.”

 

Gerard’s mouth was abruptly flooded with the familiar sting of hard alcohol as Frank tipped the bottle into his mouth. He resisted the urge to recoil in pure disgust. He swallowed hard, wrinkling his nose.

 

And then Frank was moving him again and the whole room was spinning, and he found himself with his legs slung over Frank’s. He smiled weakly at the pallid, bony knees that protruded from Frank’s black jeans.

Gerard’s head lolled to the side, coming into contact with Frank’s shoulder.

 

What was that on Frank’s neck?

A scorpion?

He studied it carefully, taking note of the stinger. Those things had like, deadly venom, you know.

 

“Frank,” he muttered, mildly concerned “There’s a scorpion on your neck.”

 

“Really? I had no idea.” He thrust the bottle to Gerard’s mouth again, which collided painfully with his teeth. “More,” he urged gruffly.

 

Gerard groaned into the glass but obediently swallowed more of the gruesome amber liquid. Frank tilted his head back and took some large gulps from the bottle, himself.

Gerard had been lost in the fluid movement of Frank’s throat as he downed the alcohol with ease, veins popping out from underneath the scorpion on his neck, the-

 

Then there were fingers in his hair again, tugging roughly and colliding their foreheads together with a dull thud.

 

“Fraaaaaaaank,” Gerard whined, wincing. “Ow.”

 

“Shhhh, sugar,” Frank cooed, a familiar smirk on his face. His pretty face, his pretty pretty face.

He pulled Gerard in closer, smashing their noses together hurtfully. “You’re gonna have to get used to it.”

 

Then all at once, Gerard’s lips were met with something gelid and soft, and fuck-

 

Frank was kissing him.

 

And before he knew it, Gerard was kissing back.

Disregarding the fact that he’d only known Frank for a day; disregarding the fact that he didn’t really know Frank at _all_.

Disregarding everything.

 

Frank pressed his lips harder against Gerards and gnawed at them until Gerard tasted blood and was panting heavily into Frank’s open mouth.

It was pure ecstasy to Gerard- intoxicated and having been deprived of intimacy of any kind for so long. It was like candy.

 

Eventually, their lips parted when Frank yanked Gerard’s head backwards, so his eyes were to the ceiling. The molded drywall churned menacingly and Gerard was beginning to feel fucking nauseated.

 

His hands still laced in Gerard’s grimy hair, Frank leaned in close and nearly snarled-

 

“I like you, Gerard Way,” a ragged breath, cool on the nape of Gerard’s neck. “We’ll make quite the pair.”

  
  


It wouldn’t be until the following day that Gerard would recall exactly what Frank had just uttered- the very same line he’d said earlier that day at the record shop.

 

But for now, Gerard just smiled dumbly at Frank, admiring those hazel eyes.

 

“Why’s there a ‘frigerator in yer livin room?” Gerard whispered softly as he settled himself against Frank’s chest.

 

“Don’t worry about it.,”

  
And that was the last thing Gerard heard before he drifted into a dreamless slumber, his mouth tasting of bourbon and a crooked-toothed stranger. 


	5. Chapter 5

_Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and a flutter,_

_In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore._

_Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;_

_But, with mein of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,_

_Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door._

_Perched, and sat, and nothing more._

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

Golden and opaque rays of early-afternoon sunlight shone through the slits of the filthy, drawn blinds. Flecks of dust danced around the room, swirling around the busted television and through the cracks in its screen. It surrounded the dingy floral couch and the pale teenager who was sprawled across it. Outside, an autumn breeze carried dying leaves into an auburn whirlwind around the degenerating apartment complex- the one with the red bricks and the hallways that smelled of decay. Some say it was the mildew eating away at the walls. Others were unsure.

The surrounding dense woods threatened to engulf Belleville in a golden-orange embrace. Somewhere, a raven could be heard, repeating a newly accommodated word to itself.

  
  


Gerard’s eyes peeled open dryly, revealing unfamiliar surroundings. Fuck- where was he again? His brain sloshed uselessly in his skull like gray matter waves and submitted a throbbing ache.

Puzzled and hardly conscious, he hauled himself into a sitting position, tenderly pressing his temples and squinting at the foreign setting. Reflective jade beer bottles littered the floor and a pair of mud caked, black combat boots lay among them. The air smelled sickeningly of alcohol and the slightest bit of… mold?-

Oh. Gerard recalled exactly where he was, and it hit him like a ton of fucking bricks, knocking the wind from his lungs.

 

Frank’s place.

 

What the fuck had he been thinking? He should be in school right about now, Gerard thought numbly, wetting his lips. He should be huffing in frustration at his math worksheets and ignoring his old bat of an algebra teacher drone about quadratics. But no- here Gerard sat, on the couch of an utter stranger, his mouth tasting faintly of bourbon and blood.

To make matters worse- not only had Gerard managed to plow through the majority of Frank’s beer supply- but he’d kissed him. He’d kissed Frank in a drunken, oblivious, giddy haze.

And fuck, he’d enjoyed it.

_Thoroughly._

He stared dully at the carpet. Something he hadn’t noticed the night before came into focus- a polaroid camera lying sideways and abandoned in the midst of the bottles.

Now, this probably shouldn’t have thrown him off nearly as much as it did; Frank had a refrigerator in the middle of his fucking living room, for christ’s sake. The guy was a walking, talking oddity, a goddamn _dingbat._

Yet, still, Gerard felt his brows tug up on confusion.

It was probably broken, he figured. No different than the shattered TV in front of him of the refrigerator in the living room. No different at all.

Wait. Speaking of Frank- where the _hell_ was he? He’d been there when Gerard fell asleep, hadn’t he? A quick, additional glance around the room confirmed that Frank was indeed nowhere to be fucking found.

He should get his ass up and go find him, Gerard knew, but he fucking _despised_ the idea of wandering around an apartment belonging to somebody he was barely even on a first name basis with. His stomach flipped at the idea. But contrary to his better judgement, he sighed and got to his feet. Besides; he needed a cup of coffee. Pronto.

Finding Frank had not exactly been the daunting task Gerard was anticipating. He’d simply rounded the corner of the hallway and bam- there he was, lying on his back on the kitchen counter and his legs crossed over the stove. A cigarette was settled between his fingers and in the other hand, he held a book, which he seemed to be reading intently; his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. He wore the same clothes as yesterday, black denim jeans with gaping holes in the knees and a plain black t-shirt, which revealed sleeves of ink and toned arms. His hair was wavy and unkempt, flowing over the kitchen counter and-

And fuck, did he look nice.

He lolled his head to the side and shot him a toothish half-smile, his eyes sparking.

“Afternoon, gutterbug,” he grinned, snapping the book shut with one hand and swinging his legs over the counter. “It’s about fuckin’ time.”

Gerard rubbed his eyes sleepily, admiring the remnants of yesterday’s eyeliner smudged around Frank’s eyes and the way his mouth curled as he spoke, Feline-esque. It was a moment before Gerard registered what Frank had said.

“Afternoon?” What the fuck, there was no way he’d managed to sleep that long, hungover or not.

Frank rolled his eyes and flung himself from the countertop, his bare feet hitting the linoleum with a dull thud. He slunk over to Gerard and rubbed his forehead against Gerard’s chest, almost like a fucking affectionate kitten. Gerard attempted desperately to keep his heart from clawing its way out of his ribcage and flying out the window. Frank propped his chin on Gerard’s breastbone and gazed up at him, his eyes lidded.

“Yeah, asshole. Afternoon.” He felt a sharp pang in his side and looked down to find Frank’s knuckles digging into the soft stop between two of his ribs, and whined inaudibly. Frank chuckled lowly. “C’mon, you hungover fuck. You hungry or what?

Gerard folded his arms between himself and Frank in a protective barrier, shielding it from further prodding. Frank raised an eyebrow at him and placed his cigarette between his lips, waiting. The burning end hovered dangerously close to Gerard’s chest- so close he could feel the heat of the embers through his shirt.

He supposed he was pretty fucking hungry, considering the last thing he’d eaten had been that vile oatmeal cookie last night with Mikey.

“Definitely,” he said finally. “What’ve you got?”

Frank lifted his chin from Gerard’s chest and shook his head, smiling.

“Not shit, dude. Unless you’re hungry for saltine crackers and tap water, we’re going out.” Frank snatched up his patch-riddled jacket, which had been lying in a pile on the carpet, and ground out his cigarette in the yellowing linoleum of the kitchen sink.

Gerard signed at the ground, scratching his matted hair and shrugging apologetically.

“Dude, I don’t have any money, I can ju-” he started, but immediately snapped his mouth shut when frank burst into laughter, resting his elbows on the countertop and burying his face in his hands. No- it wasn’t even laughter- Frank was fucking _cackling_ \- full on heinous witch style.

Gerard shuffled his feet. Literally what the _fuck_.

“Dude,” Frank gasped, crossing the room and clapping a heavy, calloused hand on Gerard’s shoulder. “Me neither.” A sly smile hung on his lips.

And suddenly, Gerard knew exactly where this was going; and he wasn’t so sure how he felt about it. But before he could enquire what the fuck Frank was plotting, his shoes had been retrieved from the back room and slipped on, and he was being rushed out the door by sharp jabs delivered by Frank’s fists.

As Frank slammed the door shut behind them, Gerard craned his neck and caught a final glimpse down the hallway and into the last door on the right. A polariod lens glared back at him.

 

\------------------------------------

 

It was fucking cold out.

Frank pulled Gerard along down crumbling sidewalks that snaked along the border of the woods and led onto Hendel Avenue. Orange and red leaved littered the gutters, gathered in damp piles in the street, and clung to their shoes. Holy Cross cemetery was beginning to come into view, the mausoleum’s roof peeking above the horizon. Run down, family owned shops with shattered windows and peeling pastel paint flew past them in a tired haze. Frank had his signature bone crushing clutch on Gerard’s wrist and had just finished informing Gerard about where their breakfast was coming from.

It was to be a dine-and-dash; rescuing wasted food, or something. Or as Frank had called it, “a good fucking deed.” Gerard couldn’t for the life of him decipher how eating off of other people’s plates was in _any_ way good, but his stomach thought otherwise.

They walked, avoiding the deep crevices in the cement. Gerard glared resentfully at his breath as it came out in clouds. The cold air penetrated his jacket and nipped at his skin and was most likely turning his nose purple.. Overall, he was fucking miserable. He fixed his eyes on Frank’s jacket and set his mind to deciphering the patches, holding on with crooked stitches.

A large Black Flag back patch dominated that jacket, displaying a pair of shears. Various others surrounded it- Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols, Operation Ivy, Rancid, Bad Brains- Gerard smiled to himself. The guy had a killer fucking music taste.

The walk was downright _unfriendly_ and seemed to have taken hours upon hours, but eventually, they came to a halt beside a white building with red trimming, its windows foggy and most of the blinds shut. Above their heads, an obnoxious sign reading “Arlington Diner” loomed.

Frank’s grip on Gerard’s wrist abruptly eased and his fingers slipped between Gerard’s as they approached one of the open windows, kneeling on the sidewalk  and peering inside.

“And now we wait,” Frank said in a low voice then pressed his cheek against Gerard’s shoulder as he scanned the inside of the diner intently.

Silently, Gerard willed his vital organs to refrain from shutting down at Frank’s touch and pressed his nose into his dark hair.

He glanced upwards at the darkening sky and the golden leaves littering Hendel Avenue, and he wondered. He wondered what Mikey was up to at this moment, while his older brother was hand in hand with somebody he’d just met yesterday and having spent the night with them. He wondered what he’d had for breakfast and if he’d managed to tie his own tie today, or if he’d abandoned it on the old recliner chair again. He wondered if his mother had noticed Gerard’s absence, and if she had, he wondered if she even cared. Did it even phase her anymore when Gerard decided to take a leave? Was she wondering about him, as well? Or did she and Mikey like it best when Gerard was gone? It must have been one hell of a weight off their shoulders when Gerard wasn’t home to guzzle all the whiskey they could afford and trash the basement to shit. Maybe it was best if he didn’t show his face around them anymore.

Gerard glanced down at Frank, who had his hazel eyes fixed inside the diner in concentration, the condensation of his breath clouding the window. Ridiculously, he entertained the thought of dropping everything; school, his family, his entire life; and just staying with Frank.

It was almost unfathomably stupid to consider such a thing. To give up the security of living with his mother. Because face it- Frank was obviously struggling just to keep himself fed and his apartment was basically rotting and decaying around him.. Why would Gerard give up what he had?

Gerard inhaled, intaking the smell of nicotine that clung to Frank’s hair; and he knew exactly why.

 _Don’t kid yourself, Gerard_. He blinked sadly.

“Earth to Gerard, we’re in luck,” Frank whispered, gently elbowing Gerard to get his attention. He followed Frank’s viridescent gaze to a couple of white hairs who seemed to be leaving- a man with a drooping face and foggy blue eyes helping his wife into a knitted wrap before stiffly shrugging into a gray wool coat. They both winced as they made their way to the front door, the man with his arm around the woman’s shoulders as they hobbled on stiff muscles.

Gerard felt the same excruciating pang of sorrow he always experienced when he watched old people- their sagging eyes miserable (god almighty just let me die already) and their frail bones threatening to crumble under their own weight. It held a vivid reminder if his grandmother’s final weeks of life, (and bury me somewhere beautiful) the wheezing and whistling of air tubes jammed down her throat (i’ll miss you terribly) and her face devoid of any form of happiness.

What was the point of living if all you were doing was waiting to die? Watching the clock tick down? Tick, tick, tick, put ‘em in the dirt. Tick. Tick. _Tick_.

Gerard nearly groaned aloud. He wasn’t going to get old. No; he’d see to it.

“Get ready,” Frank murmured into the fabric of Gerard’s jacket and curling his fingers around his arm. His breath seemed impossibly frigid. How the fuck was it colder than the outside air? “Remember what I told you?”

“I remember,” Gerard lifted his face from Frank’s hair. “When?”

A pause, Frank’s arm constricting around Gerard’s like a boa around a rodent as he scanned the diner, waiting for the precise moment.

“Now.” He yanked Gerard off his knees and inside, a bell jingling merrily above their heads as they entered. He thought he caught a glimpse of Frank scowling at that, and had to stifle a laugh as he led Gerard to the table that had just been vacated. His hand was cold and firm.

They both sat, Gerard apprehensively shifting his eyes between Frank and the people seated in the shimmering red booths and chairs surrounding them. The fact that their table was situated right smack in the fucking middle of the fucking restaurant wasn’t exactly helping Gerard’s anxiety, but thankfully, nobody seemed to have noticed them enter. They all seemed fixated on other things, chewing contemplatively and gazing out windows at the churning sky or gabbing to their friends and partners.

Feeling the slightest bit more at ease, he turned to Frank, who was already wolfing down a plate of half-eaten pancakes like there was no fucking tomorrow. Gerard pulled some sort of humored grimace. Eating a stranger’s cold leftovers (with the same goddamn fork, holy _shit_ ) was totally vile and basically unthinkable- but what the fuck, how could a guy so small even jam half a pancake in his mouth at once?

Snickering at Frank’s stuffed chipmunk cheeks, Gerard addressed his own hunger and glanced down at the second plate, which sat in front of him.

Dry pancakes that had been mostly picked over, shriveled and terrifyingly yellow scrambled eggs covered in what he figured was cheese, (oh _god_ , let it be cheese) and a piece of bacon with a chunk missing.

The plate was seriously menacing.

“C’mon, princess,” Frank snickered after swallowing “You’ll live.”

Gerard shot him a playful sneer and without further consideration, snatched the maple syrup from the edge of the table. He drowned the entire plate in it and began shoveling it in. Somehow, half a bottle of liquid sugar seemed to take the edge off the fact that he was probably contracting _diseases_ or _flesh eating parasites_ from the used fork.

In all honesty, it wasn’t too shabby.

It was after a minute or so had passed when Frank flung a handful of bacon onto Gerard’s plate with a splat, a look of repulsion fixed on his face. Exhaling, he wiped bacon grease onto his jeans.

“Vegetarian?” Gerard asked curiously around a mouthful of food. Frank frowned at the sheen of oil that still resided on his palm; a melodramatic snarl of sorts.

“Vegetarian,” he mumbled in confirmation.

Gerard nodded and gulped down another sickly sweet mouthful, his hunger beginning to subside. He was feeling better by the second, warm and no longer starving, but fuck; he was in dire need of some serious caffeination.

As if he’d read Gerard’s mind, Frank abruptly straightened up and raked his eyes over the diner, eventually fixing them on something.

“Coffee,” he said with a small half smile, gesturing towards something behind Gerard. And sure enough, as he craned his neck to look, he found there was an auburn-haired waitress behind him; clad in a spotted baby blue dress, red lipstick, and a bandana around her head. In her hands was a pot of coffee. She had just finished filling the cup of a gruff looking man and was grinning at him.

He turned back to Frank.

“Dude. We can’t just call her over. She’ll kick our asses out.”

Frank’s eyes gleamed mischievously.

“Watch me.”

Gerard nervously fumbled with his own hands underneath the table, glancing between Frank and the waitress and mentally preparing himself to make a run for it.

The woman had finished up at the previous table and was on her way back to the kitchen in the back of the diner when somebody firmly caught a hold of her arm. She blinked slowly, the florescent lighting casting shadows down her cheeks, then looked down at the man who had grabbed her by the elow. An ominous sea of hazel waves gazed back at her.

“Oh,” she said quietly, her eyes still fixed on Frank’s. “Can.. I help you?” Her face was contorted into a confused frown.

“Coffee, sweetheart,” Frank said cooly, his voice like a sweet liquid and his grasp on her arm still present. Gerard’s heart leaped. Was that a spark of jealousy he was feeling in the pit of his stomach?

The waitress pursed her cherry red lips and pulled a troubled look. Her pale blue eyes flickered to Frank’s hand on her elbow, then to Gerard, then back to Frank. Eventually, she spoke.

“You can’t do that,” she said curtly, her voice quavering slightly under that nauseous effect Frank had on people. “You nee to leave.”

“C’mon, pretty,” Frank coaxed, slowly releasing his grip on her. The flesh displayed a white print of where Frank’s fingers had been and was outlined by a burning red. Gerard suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for the girl. Jesus, did Frank even realize how rough he got sometimes? His mesmerizing voice filled the air. “Play nice.”

Something seemed to have won her over. Maybe it was those burning eyes or his smooth voice, or maybe Frank had sprained her arm or something. She threw a glance over her shoulder towards the kitchen entrance- keeping an eye out for her manager, Gerard figured- then silently filled the two empty mugs on their table. Frank shot her a sly smile of accomplishment before she briskly rushed off. As her polka-dotted blue dress disappeared into the back room, Frank threw his head back, laughing. It was fucking _contagious_ , and despite the lump in Gerard’s throat, he began to laugh, as well.

“Dude,” Gerard said between breaths “You’re totally smooth, what the fuck.” _Or maybe just terrifying,_ he added to himself.

Frank snorted and leaned back in his chair, his face hidden behind a steaming white mug.

“S’nothing,” he shrugged.

Gerard shook his head and took a few grateful gulps of the black coffee, ignoring how it singed his throat and tongue as it went down. Maybe it was just placebo, but the sleepy daze he’d been trapped in all day lifted almost instantaneously. He smiled into the mug as he stared across the table, admiring the way Frank’s hair fell in thick waves and framed his sharp jaw perfectly. What perfectly proportioned features, what enticing expression Frank made. Gerard was in the midst of imagining what a joy Frank would be to sketch when suddenly, a rough voice rang out through the diner, causing everybody to look up.

Everybody except Frank- who’s cool gaze was locked on Gerard. He was beaming.

“ _GET THE HELL OUT YOU GODDAMN_ -”

And then the diner dissipated into a thin mist and Frank’s fingers were intertwined with Gerard’s again, their feet thudding against the diner’s cobalt blue carpet. Maniacal laughter escaped them both as they bolted out the door, the bell jingling, and burst out onto the sidewalk. Down the obliterated pavement they sprinted, gasping between bouts of hysterics, and veered to the right into an alley. Splashing through mud puddles, they ran until their smoker’s lungs caught up with them and they were both gagging on icy air.

When they finally deemed it safe to stop, deep in an alley and behind a dripping garbage bin, Gerard found himself engulfed in the smell of smoke and mint gum and mildew; Frank had pulled him into a suffocating embrace, his arms squeezing the air from Gerard’s lungs.

Despite his lack of oxygen, Gerard grinned and wrapped his arms around Frank’s head, tucking it under his chin.

The warmth in Gerard’s heart grew and grew with each ragged breath Frank drew against his neck.

Brewing clouds grumbled and began to blacken above them.


	6. six

_Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling_

_By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,_

_"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,_

_Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore:_

_Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"_

_Quoth the Raven, **"Nevermore."**_

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Gerard strained his eyes upward as they walked, peering through strands of Frank's dark and sweet smelling hair, and squinted at the brewing sky above them. Blackening clouds curled into one another, emitting a sickly green tone. Browning leaves coasted through the gutters in spectacular autumn whirlwinds. Every so often, the faint mumble of thunder sounded from above and Gerard would flinch slightly, pressing his face deeper into Frank's hair and savoring the way his icy breath glided over the flesh of Gerard's throat.

Despite the unfriendly conditions, Frank had promptly decided to drag Gerard's sorry ass up to the Holy Cross cemetery to, once again, "show him something." Every so often, he would constrict Gerard's hand in his trademark bone-crushing embrace, and release a grating hum of (pleasure?) almost inaudibly. Gerard thought nothing of it, as he was much more concerned with avoiding getting his toes caught in one of the deep cracks in the sidewalk. He wasn't exactly in the sort of mood to faceplant in a morbid explosion of shattered skull fragments and brains.

The scent of dampened leaves and exhaust fumes hung heavily in the air and the first hint of a soon-to-be vicious storm announced its presence in the form of a slight drizzle. The wind picked up considerably.

If they didn't get inside soon, they were going to royally _fucked_ \- probably in the form of sopping wet clothes and teeth clattering from the cold- but Frank didn't seem to give a fuck. He wore neutral expression as he pulled Gerard along up the steep sidewalk of Hendel Avenue and towards the cemetery gates, which were beginning to come into view.

This was a serene image Gerard knew all too well; the towering cast iron fence that surrounded thousands upon thousands of burial plots, new and old, which loomed over the entirety of Belleville. A constant reminder that death was upon them all. The sight of it never ceased to send a wave of uneasiness over him. One of these graves marked the spot where his grandmother rested, and back in junior high he'd made the 20 minute walk here almost every day after school. Darkly, Gerard recalled the one sided conversations he used to have with her marble headstone, asking her how her day was and then nodding solemnly, as if listening to her response.

 

_"What did you do today, Gran?"_

_"Oh, a maggot or two found their way into my coffin. Nasty little fucks. Wish they’d leave me the hell alone. "_

 

Back before his mother became too tired to water her flower boxes, Gerard used to snip a rose or two from them and leave them at his grandmother's grave. He liked it when her memorial looked pretty. Even if her eyes would never open again to appreciate it.

4 agonizing years after her passing, Gerard had abruptly stopped visiting her grave. He had no explanation as to why; he just knew he couldn't do it anymore. The last time had been nearly 2 years ago, and he hadn't been there since.

Frank, his hands in his pockets, shoved the gate with a scuffed combat boot. Its rusted hinges creaked in protest as it swung open and Frank shrugged inside. After a sickened glance at the first rows of headstones before them, Gerard followed. Reluctantly.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

" _Seriously?_ " Gerard gawked incredulously and felt his face contort into something that probably resembled a rotting jack-o-lantern. "Okay, one? There's no way in fucking hell I can get up there." He waved dismissively at the steep concrete wall of the mausoleum and shot Frank a haphazard glare. "Two- that's like, fucking _grotesque_." Because as far as Gerard knew, tombs weren't exactly built assuming unruly teenagers would climb atop them. Grimly, Gerard envisioned the roof crumbling beneath their weight, sending them cascading inside. He wondered what it would be like to become trapped inside of a mausoleum- _alive_. What it smelled like, if it was filled with bugs.

He stood in the worsening rain, his brow furrowed and his hair beginning to drip.

Frank sneered at him from his perch on top of the mausoleum, his legs dangling from the sides.

"C’moooon, pretty. Do it for the view.”

"No,” he scowled, dismissing the whole ‘ _pretty_ ’ thing. “Unless you want me to like, fall and snap my neck."

Gerard thought he saw Frank rolling his eyes through the rain, wet hair clinging to his cheeks.

"Snapping your neck in a graveyard? Sounds kinky. And ironic," He held out a gloved hand, beckoning impatiently for Gerard to grab it. "C'mon."

Against his better judgement, Gerard heaved a sigh of discontent and took Frank's hand.

 

It had been a fucking _valiant_ struggle against slippery concrete and his severe lack of upper body strength, but with Frank’s help, Gerard eventually heaved himself over the edge and onto the roof. He rubbed his hands together where the rough texture of the walls had dug into his skin, leaving scratches. Fucking tombs and their sharp edges.

Beside him, Frank was reclined on the gray slab roof, one leg slung over the other and his hands behind his head- a position someone may assume when they were soaking up the sun on a summer afternoon, like the ads Gerard used to see in his mother's Vogue magazines left lying open on the kitchen table. Except Frank wasn't exactly your run of the mill, tanned Vogue supermodel. His pallid flesh, slick with rain, was quite obviously devoid of any vitamin D. His eyelids held a dark purple hue, like that of a hardcore insomniac or maybe someone who'd been socked in the face a few times too many.  His lips hardly held any color at all and curled at the ends in a way that Gerard could only think to describe as feline. Frank was a New Jersey vampire of sorts, tanning on the rooftop of a mausoleum in the middle of a thunderstorm. Right.

Gerard rubbed his scabbing hands together absently and smiled slightly, a pleasant equilibrium coming over him, despite the sheets of rain boring down relentlessly upon him; or the constant threat of being charred to ashes by lightning. Even then, he was at ease. He allowed his gaze to wander.

Rolling hills descended in all directions, adorned with seemingly endless rows of headstones, bevel markers and obelisks. The occasional family tomb towered above the other graves, raindrops pattering against their walls. And shit, Frank had been right- the view was incredible. Not incredible in a pleasant way, however, considering the fact that the landscape was littered with with bodies, lives long since ended. Nonetheless, it was a striking scene.

It was strange, Gerard thought, how humans felt the dire need to preserve the remembrance of their loved ones after they'd passed. (a dim recollection surfaces of relatives marveling over the crimson velvet that lined his grandmother's open casket at the viewing. was it not farcical to admire something that would soon be coated in the decomposing flesh of somebody they once loved?) It was strange to ponder exactly how many bodies lie in the dirt here, among nightcrawlers and larvae. (was there somebody that Frank once knew who now resided inside these iron gates?) It was strange to acknowledge that he and Frank were the only human beings inside this fence whose hearts were still beating. Whose blood still ran warm in their veins, whose chests still rose and fell with each intake of air. (only for a little longer, now.) It was strange to think that this cemetery could very well be the very place he'd rest eternally- his flesh could eventually become fertilizer for the grass he saw now, through living eyes. (wouldn't it get real boring, staring at the underside of a casket door? all day and all night? wouldn't you want to come out every once in a while? stretch your legs, walk around?) It was strange.

Gerard shifted his gaze to the south, and found himself staring beyond the cast iron gate and into the mouth of the woods. Sycamores thrashed violently in the wind and emitted a sort of hissing from their dying leaves. A distinct feeling of nauseous unease swept over Gerard at the very sight and he momentarily thought he might be sick.

Sycamore leaves whistled in response.

 _Ziiip_ , says the backpack.

A wave of putrid heat and the unmistakable stench of rot arises from the interior.

Plastic bags full of not-peanut-butter-and-jellies.

A white and blue Nuetrex bottle.

The winking crescent logo of a moon pie wrapper observing the scene from its perch in the grass.

A raven chiming in from above.

A holy terror.

A holy _fucking_ terror.

Was somebody missing a kidney? Was another missing their gall bladder?

"Gerard,"

Was there someone missing their everything? Abdomen all hollowed out? Gerard gnawed at a fingernail, his forehead burning.

"Gerard,"

_oh godddd, where did my insides goooo-_

"Gerard,"

A bitter sting exploded from Gerard's cheek and his head snapped to the side very suddenly, hurling him back into reality. Wincing, he gingerly brought his fingers to the spot where Frank's hand had met his cheek and left it aching. He looked up.

Frank stared at him expressionlessly, but his eyes were alight with... with something. Luxuriation? Some sort of dark gratification?

"Welcome back," he said evenly, his lips barely moving as the words escaped.

"Di- Did you just slap me?" Gerard muttered, tenderly rubbing his sore cheekbone. The rain was soothing against his skin.

"Yes," Frank said, eerily monotone. "You were ignoring me." His upper lip curled slightly as the words left his mouth, leaving Gerard queasy.

It's funny, how the most seemingly insignificant body language can be so perturbing, so _unnerving_.

Gerard stifled a shudder and swallowed dryly- he supposed he'd deserved it.

His eyes flickered to the woods - _my insides, wheeeere did my insides go_ \- then back to Frank, (skin so bright it'll make you blind cover your eyes cover your eyes) who snatched up Gerard's hand in his own and squeezed it; almost possessively. Rain water seeped from his fingerless gloves and pooled in Gerard's palm.

 

Momentarily, Gerard considered telling Frank about the backpack- a consideration he quickly squelched and discarded. Nobody else needed to be hurled into this. Especially not Frank. He looked at the person beside him, whose sopping hair was plastered and curled beautifully around his jaw. Reflections of cascading raindrops glistened in his eyes. _Not_ frank.

“I, uh. I guess I was just thinking about my grandma. She’s buried up there, somewhere.” He pointed weakly towards the place he was much too familiar with. The place he’d spent hours loathing the inevitability of death, the utter unfairness of it.

Frank nodded solemnly, his mouth fixed in a solid line, saying nothing.

Gerard gazed at their interlocked hands, studying how they differed. Frank's hands were slightly smaller, but were incredibly rough and impossibly calloused- from what Gerard could tell from underneath the gloves, anyway. Frank's hands didn't seem to belong to somebody of only 19 years. Rugged. His own hands, in contrast, seemed so fragile; soft palms and pale, lanky fingers. His knuckles had taken on a dark pink, probably courtesy of Frank's phalange-shattering grip of death. Or maybe early stages of hypothermia, or something equally unpleasant.

Anyway- it's also funny how much an individual's hands say about them- isn't it?

They remained like that for a good deal of time- Gerard pondering frivolous details of their hands and Frank watching him intently- until the storm had become violent to the point of it being _beyond_ unpleasant and nearly unbearable. Gerard was _way_ past the point of giving a shit about how soaked he was and had grown used his clothes being suctioned to his skin, but when the sky began to hurl hailstones down upon him- Well, that was a whole new can of worms.

The first chunk of ice had struck him on the bridge of the nose, sending Frank into a bout of howling laughter, the asshole. The second hit him in the head, then a third on the fucking _eye socket_ \- what the _fuck_. Mother nature totally thirsted for his blood and Gerard was so not down with being pelted into a bloody pulp by a fucking hailstorm.

 

Unanimously, they'd opted to get the fuck out of there.

 

After practically tearing his hands to ribbons on his way down the mausoleum wall, reopening and worsening the scrapes he’d received earlier, Gerard stared at them dully. Crimson welled from small tears in the flesh and was watered down by the relentless pour of rain. Frank stood beside him, also examining Gerard's bleeding palms. Hailstones ricocheted from his shoulders and his eyes glimmered with amusement. Silently, he'd pulled the gloves from his own hands, which emitted a pretty gross and very wet squelching noise, and slipped them over Gerard's gushing hands. A temporary bandage of sorts. Gerard watched, his heart palpitating as Frank's fingers came fully into view, letters scrawled across his knuckles, slick with rain. (Hallo-?) The sopping cotton settled against the scrapes and fuck, it was _blissful_. Gerard beamed.

The two had run all the way to the woods as fast as their blackened and tar filled lungs would allow them- Frank hurling himself into puddles and all the while soaking Gerard in muddy water. Frank had insisted on walking him home, and Gerard couldn't find it within himself to refuse. Despite being bludgeoned half to _death_ by ice pellets, they'd been in stitches the entire time; chortling at the blood seeping from the gloves on Gerard's hands and trickling down his fingers, bellowing every time Gerard was momentarily blinded by blankets of rain and was sent sprawling onto the sidewalk. Frank's hellish grin blighted Gerard's mind like an aluminum baseball bat to the cranium and he found he was unable focus on much else- just those crooked front teeth and the way his nose wrinkled up when he laughed.

More and more, the warmth in Gerard's heart grew.

 

When they finally reached the clearing they'd crossed paths in only the night before (Fuck, had it really only been that long? It felt like they'd spent an eternity together, didn't it?), Frank halted suddenly and wrapped his arms around Gerard's abdomen, compressing and constructing until Gerard was vaguely concerned one of his vital organs was being ruptured. But in that moment, Gerard didn't really give a fuck if his spleen was being compressed into mush or if his intestines were bursting. With a soft sigh of contentment, Gerard pulled Frank tighter to him, allowing himself to be engulfed in the sickly sweet sensation. He pressed his palms so tightly into Frank's back that they stung sharply in protest. The trees thrashed violently overhead.

"Gerard Way," Frank mused into his chest, his lips moving against the fabric of Gerard's shirt.

"Yeah?" His voice sounded wispy, dreamy, and was barely recognizable as his own. Frank pulled away slightly, hooking his fingers in tussles of Gerard's hair and pulling him in.

"I was right about you," he breathed, his mouth mere inches from Gerard’s. "I'm always right."

"Wh-"

Their lips collided roughly and painfully. Pure ecstasy spread like wildfire through Gerard's veins as Frank worked his mouth against his own. Faint undertones of nicotine clung on his breath, and Gerard found himself wishing he could stay there forever, in the midst of the storm, Frank’s hands in his hair.

But all too quickly, their lips parted and Gerard was staring at Frank's back as he disappeared into the woods in the direction of his apartment, a Black Flag patch barely visible through the heavy rain.

Vaguely, over the cacophony if the raging storm, he heard frank call "Tomorrow,"

Gerard stood, his hair and clothes clinging to his skin, the taste of Frank still on his tongue and his heart thudding relentlessly in his chest; And he grinned. Ear to fucking ear.

 _Tomorrow_.

He'd trudged home sluggishly, inwardly gushing over his most recent encounter with Frank and ignoring the mud that had somehow seeped into his chucks and penetrated his socks. Every so often, he'd glance at the surrounding trees, subconsciously anticipating to see something out of the ordinary. But there was nothing.

 

\------------------------------------

 

"You've got to be fucking _joking_ ," Gerard's mom said disbelievingly after coming downstairs to find her sewer rat of a son scraping his mud-caked shoes over the doormat, leaving behind sloppy smears. (these stains will never come out, jesus christ, i’ll have to buy a new mat.)  Her arms were folded over a Bowie shirt in an impossible tangle of acrylic nails, looking a bit like gnarled tree limbs. An unlit cigarette was nestled between her index and middle finger and a brutal mom-scowl was fixed on her face.

Donna Way was totally pissed.

And if Gerard didn't get his ass in gear and explain himself, he was totally going to feel her wrath.

Shrugging apologetically, he kneeled down and untied his shoelaces, pulling one off with a slurp. Quickly, he composed an alibi.

As far as she knew, her son had been at school for the past two days. Y’know, hitting the books, and hitting them hard.

Not spending the night with strangers, accepting their alcohol and kissing them somewhere along the way. No ma’am.

It was probable that she hasn't even noticed his absence last night, and even if she had, Gerard doubted she gave much of a damn.

He pulled off his second shoe and rose to his feet, his wet jeans riding uncomfortably up his legs as he did so. He wanted nothing more than to get this over with and go change into his Star Wars pajama pants. His mom narrowed her spider-legged eyes at him.

"I was in study hall," he said quickly, maneuvering around her and waving his arm dismissively. He figured it was sometime around 5pm now- a perfectly reasonable time to arrive back home if he'd stayed at school an hour extra. "Making up a psychics quiz. The weather sort of went to shit," he gestured at his abandoned shoes, which lay in a sad muck.

Sighing, she took his cheeks in her hands and pecked him on the forehead, her nails tickling Gerard's skin. The overwhelming scent of drugstore perfume wafted from her. He'd never been too fond of the scents she drowned herself in- they sort of reminded him of a roadkill skunk, or maybe something equally putrid. Gerard held his breath like the good fucking son he was, underwent the "you're-dripping-all-over-the-goddam-carpet" scolding, and slunk down into the basement to change.

He’d predicted correctly- his mom hadn't even bothered asking where he'd been last night, or even appeared to be mildly curious. She'd seemed to have been much more concerned with the condition of her carpet. Gerard knew it wasn't that she didn't care about him; more likely than not, she was just afraid of what her son was actually up to when he disappeared without warning. _where does Gerard go? what is he up to? prostitution? cult membership? sacrificial goats?_

Gerard snorted to himself and pushed the basement door open, stagnant coffee and stale cigarettes wafting into his lungs as he did so.

It was as he was pulling his shirt off over his head when he realized he was still wearing Frank's gloves. His t-shirt hit the carpet with a wet _slap_ as Gerard turned his hands over, staring blankly at them and his stomach fluttering. The scratches underneath still stung, but only mildly. Absently, he brought one hand to his lips, pursing them against the fabric of the glove, and imagined the things Frank had done wearing these gloves., Maybe he'd worn them on the city bus, to the grocery store. Perhaps he'd slept in them a time or two. He envisioned Frank's hands settled inside. He wondered if he missed them.

Gerard smiled softly, retrieved a “clean” shirt from the floor, and slid it over his head, not removing the gloves. He'd give them back tomorrow.

 

\-------------------------------

 

The hum of The Smiths floated through the upstairs hall and could be traced to the second door on the left- the door covered in unfolded cd booklets stuck on with scotch tape and a truly impressive drawing of a fire breathing stegosaurus drawn by a 13 year old Gerard.

He mounted the (hideous) teal carpeted stairs and followed the murmur of the soft guitar down the hall to his younger brother's room, the reflected sounds of the storm surrounding him like a dome. He paused at the door ( _i know it's over, still i cling. i don't know where else i can go. over its over it's over_ ) and knocked quietly with his index knuckle, the sound muffled slightly by Frank’s glove. The groan of the old mattress and a rustle of papers could be heard as Mikey stirred inside. Then tranquilly:

"Come in,"

Gerard let himself inside, stepping over a teetering and treacherous stack of graphic novels and clicking the door shut behind him. Mikey lay on his stomach on his bare mattress, no longer in his uniform and wearing a wrinkled Anthrax shirt paired with green checkered pajama pants, his sandy blonde hair ruffled as if he'd slept on it since coming home from school. Various comics were splayed around him and a mug of coffee was clutched in in his slender hands.

Wasn't it strange how Mikey's hands differed from his own? Or from Frank's? Mikey's fingers looked impossibly vulnerable, so innocent. ( _oh mother, i can feel the soil falling over my head._ ) Frail fingers curled around a mug handle.

Meanwhile, Mikey's eyebrows had pulled up in humored concern as his older brother drooled in the doorway.

"Gerard?" he laughed, propping himself up in bed.

"Hi, Mikey." Gerard weaved his way through stacks of books and CDs and movie cases then sat himself on the edge of Mikey's bed. He hugged his brother lightly, careful not to spill his coffee. The atmosphere was instantaneously comforting. This was a place they’d spent a large portion of their childhood in. Plotting the next time they’d be allowed to play outside, watching movies on Mikey’s tiny tube television and sitting close under his down comforter. Not much had changed. The Nightmare on Elm Street poster was still pinned to the ceiling among countless drawings of Gerard’s. It didn't reek of cigarettes or booze or vomit or molding coffee, unlike the basement. Mikey’s room was a pleasant place. ( _the sea wants to take me, the knife wants to slit me_.)

"Where have you been? You weren't at school today. Were you?" Mikey squinted at him, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose and his brow furrowed.

Gerard pursed his lips slightly. He was itching to tell his brother all about Frank, the guy from the record store. He wanted Mikey to hear all about hazel eyes wider than Marina's fucking Trench and a grin so savage it made his heart skip. About the leftovers from Arlington diner and about the beautiful view from atop the mausoleum; but something just didn't sit right. Gerard glanced at his little brother's hands again, ( _do you think you can help me?_ ) frail fingers and gangly bones, and decided against telling him the truth.

People's hands say a lot about them.

"No," he said eventually, "I guess I just wasn't feeling up to it."

Mikey blinked, looking troubled; his eyes flickering down to his mug of black coffee, then back up to Gerard. He had a way of weeding through his older brother's bullshit- and it was apparent in his pale, golden green eyes that he'd picked up on something. It was a brotherly hunch, or something like that. Insight. But instead of interrogating Gerard or drilling him with questions, Mikey simply nodded and took a sip of his coffee, asking for no further explanation. This was a display of one of his best qualities, in Gerard's opinion: He minded his own goddamn business.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in a sleepy haze of melancholic rhythms coming from Mikey's stereo, flat on their stomachs and flipping through books. This was, more than anything, Gerard's attempt at regulating his surging thoughts and squelching the sudden feeling of alienation that had come over him during the past day or two.

And, well, it had worked for the most part. The time passed quick and easy and he was soothed by his brother's presence. The slight whistle of his breath beside him, how he periodically pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, the way his straightened hair fell in a clump between his eyes. The last rays of sunlight penetrated the blanket Mikey had taped over the window in his room as the sun set, signifying that the storm had at last reached an end. It was very nice- that is, before Gerard got to craving a cigarette.

He'd bid Mikey goodnight and retreated to the basement, snatching up a granola bar on the way and forcing it down without tasting it.

In his room, he glanced around sullenly ( _what a fucking dump_ ) and sparked up a smoke, greedily taking in the chemicals. He'd been forced to tear into a new pack- his old one had been soaked through entirely during his time with Frank in a massacre of perfectly good nicotine. A bloody fucking shame, honestly.

Grabbing the already overflowing ashtray, he situated himself in bed, lying on his back and fixing his eyes on the ceiling.

Without his permission, his brain immediately redirected his thoughts to Frank.

Faint tugs of affection towards the guy with moon sized hazel eyes and the crooked, curling smile had struck him that morning after their run from the diner, Gerard supposed- he recalled the distinct scalpel of fondness as it had sliced into his heart. The very thought of Frank sent his brain into an anxious frenzy, slurring his thoughts and melting them into some sort of molten word salad.

However, Gerard could not deny the clear warning his gut had given him on the day he met Frank. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, a little red flag had gone up. Just enough to make him uneasy as those smoldering eyes worked their way through him. Just enough to make him queasy each time frank bore those chipped teeth at him.

Something was off about Frank. That, he knew. Something was _very_ fucking off.

A screw was loose, a wire was severed, a marble had been lost.

His unnervingly blank expression after he'd slapped Gerard. How his eyes had momentarily gone vacant, devoid of any human emotion. The refrigerator in his living room, the shattered television, the polaroid that lay amongst jade beer bottles.

Something wasn't right. Something intangible.

Gerard, wide eyed, ground out his cigarette prematurely, suddenly not giving much of a fuck if he was craving nicotine or not. He turned over in bed to face the wall, pulling his sheets up to his chin and burying his nose in Frank's gloves.

What was awry with Frank?

And how was Gerard supposed to resist something so _enticing_?

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,_

_Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;_

_For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being_

_Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,_

_Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,_

_With such a name as “Nevermore.”_

\-----------------------------------------

Gerard stared lethargically as skeletal and acrylic-clawed mom hands deposited a handful of pale pills next to his cereal bowl. Donna Way looked worriedly down at her greasy and bedheaded teenager, her brow furrowed.

"Would you take them now, Gerard?" she said quietly, crossing into the kitchen and placing the padlocked box full of Gerard's medication bottles back in the pantry before filling a thermos with black coffee. The funneled echo of the liquid filled the kitchen. "You skipped them yesterday morning."

 _not today, mommy dearest_.

Gerard grunted in false compliance, not bothering himself with piecing together a coherent response, and dropped the six pills in his mouth. His mother watching him intently, he swigged his coffee as if to wash down the pills - but before he was fully aware of what he was doing or why, he allowed the capsules to be backwashed into the coffee mug to dissolve. Gerard set the cup down, swallowing air and pulling a fake grimace. His mother granted him a relieved nod before turning back to her thermos to screw the lid on. Success.

He stared at his mug somberly, its contents having been totally ruined by brainwashing chemicals. What a fucking waste.

In Gerard's opinion, Clozapine and Risperidone and Remeron and whatever the fuck else- well, they were all bullshit. Total bologna. Medication was placebo at its finest, and damned if he could be blackmailed into taking them with claims of his 'chemical imbalances' or 'inability to decipher reality', as doctors had phrased it. Everybody- his mom, beady eyed, bird beak-nosed Dr. Krafchik, even Mikey- seemed to believe there was a flaw in Gerard's execution. That his mind was something that could be tweaked or have its bolts tightened to their standard.

He was fine- in fact,  he was just fucking dandy. There goes Gerard, peachy as ever. Good ol' Gerard Way, he's the cream of the fucking crop, you know. Nothing wrong there. Nothing at all.

What the fuck ever.

After his mother had left for work, Gerard dumped his spoiled coffee into the sink, glaring at the partially disintegrated capsules as they disappeared down the drain. Let the pipes and the sewers have his medication.

Ho hum.

For dramatic effect, he flicked on the garbage disposal, and smiled.

\--------------------

Gerard sat next to his brother towards the front of the bus, the brown plastic seats squeaking beneath him as they rolled through Belleville. His stiff school blazer clung to his shoulders uncomfortably and his tie threatened to asphyxiate him in a display of red and black pinstripes and purpling cheeks. His hair, which had been reluctantly and begrudgingly washed that morning for the first time in well over a week, was plastered to his chin and forehead in midnight streaks. Despite the school's rigid dress code, Frank's gloves still covered his hands. As far as Gerard was concerned, the administration could go fuck themselves. Besides- he only had a matter of hours to wear them until he'd see Frank again and have to give them back.

Beside him, Mikey was hunched forward, seemingly engrossed in the book he was reading and oblivious to the unpleasant chatter of high school students around them. Gerard turned to the window, watching as Greylock Parkway whirred past in a blur. Surrounding cars sent autumn leaves cascading and released clouds of dark exhaust into the morning air.

The day stretched ahead of Gerard, and he dreaded it.

\---------------------------------------------------

The school day seemed to be neverending, just as they always did. By the time the bell had sounded and announced the end of the day, Gerard felt as if he'd been bludgeoned to a pulp. His backpack was bogged with sheets of algebra homework- due tomorrow- as his teacher had reminded the class with a (sadistic) gleam in her beady eyes. Gerard reminisced with distaste how she stood by the whiteboard- pompous, mean as cat shit, and older than a fucking bristlecone pine- her whitening hair pulled back and the ugliest blue skirt Gerard had ever fucking _seen_ covering her liver-spotted legs.

Well, Ms. Morris could go back to the reeking depths of hell where she belonged for all Gerard cared. Or maybe, he thought contently, she could be attacked by a pack of rabid dobermans, who would tear that hideous blue skirt to shreds with frothing jaws and teeth sharp as daggers.

Yes, that would do just fine.

He exited the dimly lit school among buzzing mobs of teenagers, and felt a sudden rush of stark anticipation; he'd be with Frank in the matter of an hour or two. He crossed the courtyard, past concrete benches and students babbling over nonsense Gerard honestly couldn't give a fuck less about. Soon, very soon, he and Frank would together again, and he would be engulfed in that sweet smell; cigarettes and mint gum and a little something else.

Grinning to himself, Gerard boarded the bus home.

Upon arriving home, Gerard had tossed his books onto the living room floor in a cacophony that rattled the coffee table, then bustled into the basement at roughly the speed of light. Mikey merely quirked an eyebrow at his older brother before launching his lanky limbs onto the couch and flipping through the cardboard box of horror movies that was kept beside it.

Downstairs, Gerard pawed through the piles of black clothing that blanketed his floor in search for anything that wasn't unbearably acrid (overturning a moldy cup of coffee somewhere in the midst of the process)- but fuck, it was all _gnarly_. He was unable to deem any of his clothes even _relatively_ clean, but he finally decided on a hopelessly wrinkled Iron Maiden shirt, which only emitted a mildly unpleasant scent. He hoped Frank didn't mind hanging around someone who smelled like a rancid meat locker.

Eyeliner was generously applied and hair was ruffled to the point of looking bedraggled before Gerard finally looked himself over in the mirror.

And oh fuckin’ boy, did he look like shit.

He dismissed his (utterly repulsive) appearance and snatched up his cigarettes before padding upstairs. Mikey briefly looked up from _The Curse Of The Werewolves_ as Gerard passed the couch and pulled the front door open. An autumn wind coasted into the house, carrying a few leaves with it and dispersing them around the living room.

“Where’re you going, Gerard?” Mikey inquired, his head propped up on his hands. Bars of afternoon sunlight penetrated the house and illuminated his pale green eyes.

Gerard scratched his head. It wasn’t often that he left the house to meet up with somebody- and frankly, he felt mildly embarrassed of his agenda. Not to mention the unjustifiable pangs of fear he felt when he entertained the idea of telling Mikey about Frank. Once again, Gerard opted to avoid the truth.

“Just on a walk, I guess,” he said dismissively, stepping out onto the wooden porch, which creaked under his weight. “I’ll be back later, okay?”

And that’s when Gerard thought he saw a hint of _something_ cloud Mikey’s eyes, something that resembled dread or perhaps even sheer panic; but in an instant, it had vanished, and Mikey had regained composure.

Gerard smiled weakly at his younger brother before the door squealed shut between them.

Little did either of them know, this was the very last unwary moment the brothers would ever share. Balding branches clawed relentlessly at the Way household's widows, begging to be let inside.

**\-----------------------**

Gerard watched in elation as smoke curled from Frank's colorless lips and nostrils and dissipated into the crisp autumn air. One of Frank's hands was clenched firmly around Gerard's wrist, almost dominatingly, while the other held a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. An hour or two earlier, Gerard had found Frank awaiting him just inside the mouth of the woods, a backpack on his shoulders. After rejecting the return of his gloves (“it’s cold as fuck out, Gerard. Just wear them,”) Frank had gazed at Gerard fondly before taking him by the hand and leading him to where they now sat.

It was picturesque- they were perched on a ledge of sorts, which overlooked a surging river a few meters below. Its bubbling and gurgling filled Gerard’s ears soothingly and every so often, it splashed them with frigid, foaming water. Above them, the sky held a spectacular orange hue and contrasted the outlines of knotted and gnarled tree branches. The two sat in dead and drying grass, which was littered with a plethora of leaves of every color. From somewhere in the surrounding woods, a raven was heard, cooing a melancholic melody for all to hear.

This particular occurrence struck a match inside of Gerard and set him ablaze, a sudden recollection dawning in him.

The ravens on the night that he and Frank had first spent time together. What had they said?

_come out, come out, wherever y-_

"Frank?" he said suddenly, cutting the silence between them and interrupting the raven's song. Frank blinked solemnly and shifted his murky gaze to Gerard, who stifled a shudder.

"Yes?"

"The night we ran into each other out here," He started, absently rubbing his forehead. Had it really only been a coincidence that they’d crossed paths?  "Y'know, when you scared the legitimate shit out of me?"

Frank chuckled lightly, bringing the cigarette to his lips and murmuring through a lungful of smoke,

“What about it?"

"The ravens. You made them talk,"

Frank shrugged apathetically before taking a final drag from his cigarette and grinding it into the grass.

"So what if I did?" hints of a grin tugged at his lips and his fingers tightened around Gerard's wrist. The viridescence of his gaze was so deep that Gerard felt as if he was swimming in it.

“I knew it,” Gerard smiled at the patches of his own skin that were beginning to redden from Frank’s grip.

Frank shook his head and released Gerard, his lips upturning very slightly, and began rummaging around in his bag.

“Fuckin’ starving,” he muttered, retrieving something in a display of crinkling wrappers and-

-and a blue and yellow logo.

A Moon Pie.

Gerard's breath hitched in his throat and a dark, sweet horror seeped through his veins ( _look out behind you_ ) and everything clicked so suddenly that he was swept into a nauseous oblivion. Gerard backpedalled. Backpedalled hard enough to jostle his useless fucking brain into dicking out on him and he was left gaping at Frank, probably even drooling all over himself or looking lobotomized- or both.

( _message failed to send. try again?_ )

Frank did it. Frank did all those nasty things out in the woods. Frank, cross legged in the grass, smoking reds and snatching organs. His hands slick with fluids ( _you've held those hands those filthy filthy hands_ ) and that jackal mouthed grin splitting his features. Premature endings. All points lost. Go back to start.

The hint had been small- almost undetectable- but there was no question in Gerard's mind concerning the matter. Perhaps the most sickening part of it all was the gleam in Frank's eyes, taunting, as if he knew Gerard had figured it out. How could that be?

Ripples of absolute terror tore through Gerard, clawing up his back and uprooting tendons with its gnarled claws. Frank ( _my insideeeees_ -) chuckled next to Gerard and the terror worsened, seeming to actually creep and crawl under his flesh with visible movement. He'd spent a night in this man's apartment ( _o-h god, mister, no, give them back-_ ), accepted drinks from him. Just a little powder on the rim of a beer bottle when Gerard's eyes were averted would have sufficed. A beverage placed warmly into trusting hands and consumed unknowingly. Frank could have done that. Had he considered it? Gerard had _relished_ the presence of Frank, and damned if he hadn't been in grave fucking danger all the while.

"Gggmmph-" Gerard groaned, his vision sweeping sideways as if the earth had fallen off kilter. A dull throb had begun behind his eyes.

"Something wrong, _Gerard Way?"_ A voice smooth as fucking butter, all the while laced with dirt and rusted razor blades, purred beside him. A frigid breeze sent accumulated autumn leaves tumbling and cascading into the bubbling creek below them. Gerard peeled his eyes from the serene imagery, his vision hazing into a vapid fog.

It’s funny how the tiniest bit of knowledge can cause somebody's perspective to make a complete 360, is it not? Snagging every little detail of the perception they once had and muddling it, contorting it into something unfamiliar? All at the drop of a dime.

Frank's thick, waving hair now seemed nothing but sinister, framing his face in raven flicks; a blinding contrast to his complexion. Appearing devilishly amused, he tore into the wrapper with his teeth, and Gerard felt a sudden, irrational resentment towards it- as if a fucking pastry was at fault for all of this chaos.

"Fr..fra-"

"Yes, pretty?" his eyes gleamed knowingly, causing Gerard's stomach to churn. Leaves hissed past them as the wind picked up.

Gerard opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words escaped. He gritted his teeth together and stared at Frank, who had jammed half the moon pie in his mouth.

What was there to say?

Frank swallowed and dully stared at the other half of the pastry; at sickly marshmallow cream oozing out onto the wrapper, before chucking it into the river with a satisfying splash. He blinked at Gerard, his gold-flecked irises glinting in the setting sun.

"What do you say," the feline-esque man mused, leaning towards Gerard expressionlessly. "we go to your place? Your mother should be making dinner right about now. Am I correct?"

Gerard's heart lurched painfully against his chest and he swallowed hard, despite the fact that his mouth was devoid of any moisture. The last rays of amber sunlight sliced through the canopy of branches above their heads, signaling that it was approximately 7 o'clock, and his mom would indeed be starting dinner soon.

But how the fuck would Frank know that?

"Y-y-" gerard stammered, his hands beginning to shake violently and his forehead growing hot.

( _your brain is cooking frank is cooking your brain_ )

(( _he's going to chop mom and Mikey to bits and seal them up in plastic bags and-_ ))

"Use your words, Gerard," Frank's voice was emotionless as it grated into the damp, stagnant air.

"Okay," Gerard nearly whimpered, clasping his hands together and digging his nails into the flesh to keep them from quivering. "Okay, Frank."

A blinding, cunning grin peeled across Frank's face. Without a word- only that vile grin- he rose to his feet.

"C'mon, then,"

Gerard, dazed, remained seated in the dead bluegrass, staring at Frank dumbly.

"Get up, Gerard," he coaxed, a faint but evident tone of warning in his words.

Gerard, wide eyed, did not move.

A tense moment passed before Frank's face morphed into a dreadfully odious sneer.

"Get _UP_ ," he snapped, his upper lip peeling back to reveal his chipped front tooth. The agonizing blade of reality tore through Gerard and he recoiled as if Frank had hit him. Immediately, Gerard  shot up, flinching as Frank took a step in his direction. Gerard’s breath was quick and shallow, like that of a frightened rabbit, and threatened to evolve into full-fledged hyperventilation.

( _don't take him home what are you doing he's going to chop us all to bits_ -)

Frank's hand, rough and calloused, snaked around Gerard's waist and tugged him close. Oddly enough, this sent a surge of relief through him, a tranquil sort of numbness that could not be justified. Security. Comfort.

"Gerard,"

"Ghhmmh,"

"You're so precious when you're scared,"

And with that, they began the short walk to the house, and Gerard couldn't help but notice pensively that Frank seemed to be leading the way, not once asking which way to turn. He navigated the forest, his arm locked firmly and possessively around gerard's abdomen, in the correct direction as if he'd done it a hundred times before. He knew exactly where he was going, and he made no attempt to hide it.

All the while, gerard's skull emitted a throbbing ache.

( _what are you doing oh god gerard what are you doing_ )

The sun had only just dipped below the horizon, taking every last bit of autumn warmth with it, when they reached the house. Their breaths swirled upwards in misty clouds as they trudged up the wooden steps that led to the back door.

He stared numbly at the doorknob rusting brass doorknob and did his very best to refrain from vomiting all over himself. He lifted his hand to turn it

( _WHAT ARE YOU DOING_ )

and then froze, his fingers hooked stiffly, reminding him of an eagle's talons. Frank cocked a wretchedly bemused eyebrow, then extended his arm past Gerard's hovering hand and turned the key.

 _click_.

The door's hinges screeched hideously, as if in protest, as Frank pushed it open. Light from the dwelling’s interior poured out onto the porch, bathing them and casting shadows across the warped wood. The dull hum of the television buzzed from the living room- probably Mikey watching some cheesy old horror movie he'd seen a thousand times, chortling at the terrible acting over a can of coke- and fuck, Gerard could feel Frank's smoldering gaze on him and it was going to burn a fucking hole through his skin and liquify his organs.

"Um. home sweet home," Gerard said dryly, gesturing weakly as Frank nudged him inside. Hazel eyes scanned the house, flickering from picture to picture nailed to the off-white walls. Baby photographs, his mother's senior prom, Mikey's 4th birthday. Gerard in the 4th grade elementary musical, clad in a Peter Pan costume, complete with green tights. His grandmother perched at a piano, her fingers stretched elegantly across the keys.

The lump in gerard's stomach grew.

Frank's skin tone remained ghastly, even under the light tinted orange by his mother's vintage lamp, sat on the coffee table to the left of the doorway. The mystery of it all was how he managed to appear so pristinely groomed all the time. Gerard personally had trouble keeping himself from smelling (and looking) like a rotting slab of meat- so Frank's hygiene was definitely something to marvel.

(how long do you have to shower to get the caked blood from under your fingernails, ol pal? your water bills must be killer) ((killer!)) (((ha!)))

Frank turned to him and fucking _sneered_ , what the _fuck_ , then kicked the door closed behind them with a scuffed combat boot. The slam echoed throughout the house, penetrating every nook and cranny, every crack- shedding light on the inescapable reality of it all. Frank was inside of his house. He wondered what it felt like to have all your organs torn out by greedy, snatching hands.

"Gerard?" Donna Way's voice rang out over the _Dracula_ soundtrack that the television was emitting (he supposed he had unconsciously recognized it) and Gerard grimaced. His mouth felt as if it was filled with sand.

"Uh, yeah mom, h-i," he called, his voice cracking slightly towards the end but remaining mostly even. Instinctively, he scraped the drying mud from his shoes and onto the doormat. Frank mimicked. "I brought.. I brought a friend over for dinner, if that's cool?"

 _A friend_.

There was a pause, then the clicking of heels against the kitchen linoleum. Soon enough, Donna Way rounded the corner in all of her Jersey mom glory, a fucking _giddy_ smile plastered across her red lips.

Gerard's mouth tasted fucking terrible. Like fermented vomit, maybe.

"This is Frank," he said dryly, gesturing to his right and swallowing a dry heave. His mom  stepped forward, baring her cigarette stained teeth and eagerly offering up her hand to him. Frank took it in his own, those (filthy!) hands engulfing hers. His mother's eyes twinkled in delight as Frank shot her a genuinely charming half-grin.

"Nice to meet you, hun. Oh, Gerard, could you do me a favor and open some cans for me? these nails will be the fuckin' death of me." She waved her skeletal claws in the air to punctuate. Gerard's eyes flicked to Frank, who leered- the bastard- then back to his mom. Fuck.

Donna babbled to Frank in what seemed to be a foreign language as Gerard struggled against his trembling hands and fumbled with the can opener. Time and time again, he would line up the blade with the top of the tomato can,

( _don't hurt her please don't-_ )

only for the contraption to slip and come clattering down onto the kitchen counter. His mother's voice resembled a radio station with bad reception as it met his ears. Again, he attempted to penetrate the tin can, and dropped the appliance. Fuck, it wasn't rocket science, why the fuck couldn't he just-

A gentle tug on the hem of his sleeve and inked fingers sliding the can opener from his hands.

"Having a little trouble, dude?" a snicker and the sound of grating metal as tomato cans were peeled open. Gerard stared, unblinking, as Frank opened the cluster of cans on the kitchen counter with ease, one by one.

Behind them, Donna's penciled brows pulled up in slight concern, but soon faded after Frank shot her another one of those impossibly pleasant grins.

The cans were gathered up and poured into a tall pot- the one that Gerard's mother always used for chili- and the two boys were ushered out of the kitchen. Unsure of where else to go and in dire need of lying down, Gerard led Frank into the basement.

( _o, god, what are you-_ )

Wave after wave of nauseous vertigo crashed down upon Gerard as he made his way down the basement stairs,

( _chop us all to bits_ )

clinging to the railing for support. Like a ton of bricks or an iron freight train, slurries of confusion and fresh bewilderment hit him all at once

( _my insides-_ )

and he found himself coming to a halt at the foot of the stairs. Gerard's knees buckled and he fell into a pathetic heap, bracing his head between his knees. Beside him, Frank sighed airily before hooking his hands beneath Gerard's arms and dragging him across the basement floor. Empty coke cans and coffee mugs and heaps of clothes slid past underneath Gerard and sleepily, he thought;

_put em' in the dirt._

Discombobulation. Disconcertion. Disarray.

He was suddenly hauled upwards by the underarms and- oh, he was in bed. Familiar navy blue sheets that smelled of coffee and body odor engulfed him.

Oh, this was nice. This was very nice, yes.

The slightest bit of actuality penetrated his brain and the befuddlement began to ebb. Frank's chest rose and fell deeply against Gerard's shoulder and he felt a sense of warmth in his belly, feeling coddled. Something soft against his forehead; lips.

Nevermind what Frank had done. Nevermind that. He settled himself in the crook of Frank's neck, inhaling, savoring.

And as inertia cast its dark wing over Gerard, he smiled dolefully.

\--------------------------------------

Spoonfuls of chili seemed to morph into bloody sludge as Gerard ate.

( _mom made this out of fuckin' human meat and you know it, gerard_ )

((shut up))

( _i heard human tastes just like bacon. that true, gerard?_ )

A rotten, maddened giggle threatened to escape him and he promptly stifled it with another spoonful of (human)

((shut _up_ )) chili.

Across the table, Mikey sat with his back hunched and his cheek squashed against his palm, aimlessly swirling his spoon around his bowl and looking bored within inches of his life. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, lopsided and threatening to fall clean off his face. His introduction to Frank had been brief but did not cease to bring beads of sweat to Gerard's forehead. The absolute magnetism of Frank was undeniable, and it was evident by his beaming that Mikey had taken an immediate liking to him. Their mother had quite obviously fallen victim to the charisma of the small, hypnotic-eyed man, as well.

Frank was an instantaneous hit with the Ways.

And Gerard couldn't have been more petrified.

“You go to Belleville High, is that right, hun?" Gerard's mother beamed at Frank before taking a swig of thick, purplish wine.

( _blood-_ )

"Mmm," a pleasant sort of purring sounded from Frank as he swept a strand of hair from his eyes. "No ma'am, I go to North Arlington,"

Mikey suddenly sputtered to life, nearly knocking his bowl from the table in the process. Tomato slime sloshed menacingly at its edges.

"No _shit_ ," Mikey gawked incredulously, pushing his glasses back into place with a forefinger. "What the hell, that place is like, _supreme_."

Donna Way hummed into her wine glass in agreement.

Frank sniggered, probably at the gullibility of the family, and shot Gerard a haphazard glance as if confirming the fib- urging him to play along.

 _it's all a scheme_ , Gerard's brain murmured. Frank wasn't in high school anymore- that he knew for sure. But why would he want Gerard's family to think he was? He stared into his bowl and was repulsed by the thought of eating another bite. Red molten goo glared back at him.

"Just about as supreme as Belleville can get, I suppose," Frank shrugged and grinned toothily at Mikey, who lit up in response.

Gerard spent the remainder of dinner staring sightlessly into his bowl and doing his very best to tune out all conversation.

Afterwards, Gerard having left the majority of his meal untouched, Frank had insisted on doing the dishes for Donna. His mother had basically _swooned_ at that, sending Gerard's stomach churning again. Frank had left around 10:30, brushing Gerard's hand and placing something in it, before exiting the backyard door and disappearing into the mouth of the woods.

Gerard glanced down at what Frank had given him; a corner torn from Gerard's pad of watercolor paper- which he’d probably gotten while Gerard was asleep- and unfolded it, his hands still shaking horribly. There, in nasty chicken scratch handwriting, it read-

YOU NEED NOT FEAR ME.

and on the backside of the paper-

TOMORROW.

goosebumps rippled up Gerard's arms.

Somewhere in the living room, his mom could be heard gushing to her younger son about their recent guest.

" _What a charming young man he was,_ "

That's when the ground rushed up to meet Gerard and connected sharply with his forehead, rattling his brain and flicking the lights off.

 

 

 **  
**It was peculiar, the way things were unfolding, wouldn't you say?


End file.
